


We're Going Down Swinging

by AmaranthineRose



Series: Set the World on Fire [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awesome Laura Barton, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Gen, Marvel Cameos, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 19:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11538987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthineRose/pseuds/AmaranthineRose
Summary: After New York and Loki's spell, Clint Barton is left to clean up the pieces of his life and mind, along with where his relationships with the people around him stand. Recovery isn't as easy as it looks, but Barton boys have always been survivors.Or, Clint runs away, comes back, and adopts a mouthy teenager.





	1. Alaska

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of time debating how to handle Clint and Natasha in Set the World on Fire, especially considering that a lot of my plans for them came from before Age of Ultron came out. I decided to stick with those plans since I'm going to go in deeper AU territories. Laura Barton still exists since I did love her a lot, albeit in a different role, but I decided to stick with my plans so I could have fun with a more 616 styled Clint.
> 
> We're Going Down Swinging starts in late December 2012. There will be three chapters. The title comes from Fall Out Boy's Sugar, We're Goin' Down. The next update will happen in the next four to five days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint hides. Natasha seeks.

Alaska was quiet. And the cabin he was hiding in was far from any other human beings, located in the dead middle of nowhere, with only wolves and maybe the occasional yeti for company.

The isolation was more than enough for Clint Barton. In fact, it was exactly what he wanted.

He didn’t own the cabin. Fury did. Fury offered it to him when he realized that he needed to step away from everything – from SHIELD, from civilization, from himself. He needed to take a break from everything, before it tore him apart from the inside out.

When the winter storms were bad enough, he would take out his hearing aids and toss them in a drawer. To some people, silence would only mean being left alone with their thoughts. To Clint, silence was so much easier to blank away from everything. Silence made it easier for him to flee from the thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silence made it easier to forget what he’d been through. Especially since his thoughts went to the people and things he’d lost along the way.

There was a small village about a half hour’s snow mobile ride away. There was an off-the-books SHIELD Base called Providence an hour or two away in Canada, but he preferred to go to the village. He wanted nothing to do with SHIELD for now.

Clint went to town every few weeks, to pick up supplies and to make sure he hadn’t missed another alien invasion. Never knew with how the world was changing. Alien invasions might become regular events. He stopped there about two days before Christmas, over six months after the Battle of New York, and when he discovered his order at the general store wasn’t ready, he went to the bar.

He pushed the door of the bar open, tugging his hat off and shaking the snow out of his hair. His gray eyes flickered over the bar and its denizens, as paranoid and cautious as he’d ever been. Clint was far more paranoid than he’d been months before. Then again, that was what happened when you were put under a spell by a psychotic god.

Clint sat at the bar and ordered his typical drink. He’d been there for over six months, and the people in the bar knew to leave him alone. They just thought of him as an odd hermit who lived a few miles out, didn’t work on the boats, and just minded his own business. That was enough for the people of this village to accept him.

He drank quietly, nodding in confirmation when the bartender asked if he wanted his usual food. He wouldn’t mind having decent food. He was not much of a cook, as hard as he tried at times. It might keep him in the warmth a bit longer before he went back on the trek back to the cabin.

Then he looked towards the single television in the bar, and saw what was playing.

The headline screamed across the screen. TONY STARK MISSING, PRESUMED DEAD FOLLOWING TERRORIST ATTACK. Clint’s head snapped back when he saw it, pausing as he sipped at his beer, turning back to look at it. The volume was down low, whatever he could hear drowned out by the sounds of men’s voices and the jukebox, but he was skilled enough at lip reading to get some of it.

The Mandarin attacked Stark after Stark threatened him on national television, after the explosion at the Chinese Theater. Apparently one of his friends was injured, and Clint briefly wondered who he was, though the anchors focused on Stark.

“Shit,” Clint muttered, gray eyes wide. He moved to his feet, moving to grab the long-distance burner phone he kept in his coat pocket. He hurried to the bathroom a few seconds later, trying to breathe.

He didn’t know what he could do. He was in Alaska. He was in Alaska with no way to get to the continental United States, and Stark was more than likely dead.

But a few months before, Stark fought at his side in an alien invasion. And Clint Barton protected his friends, whether he be on a building up above or in the middle of nowhere, a thousand miles away.

He unlocked the phone, setting it against his ear as he locked the bathroom door. There was only number on the phone, and only one person in the world who had the number to this burner. It was meant as a way to get her in an emergency. Tony Stark being blown up in a terrorist attack counted as an emergency.

He waited for an answer. The ringing continued, one after another, a continuous medley of no answer.

Clint was about to hang up the phone when a surprised voice at last came on. “Barton? What’s going on, why are you calling?”

He ignored the edge of annoyance to the voice. “Is Stark dead?” Clint demanded, taking a deep breath. He rested his arm against the bathroom wall, forehead against it. “I just saw the news. Did SHIELD… did we find a body?”

When you were SHIELD, you went by the rule of _assume survival unless there’s a corpse_. It was a smart rule for Clint to follow. It’d saved him and Natasha’s asses more than a few times over the years. And if they didn’t have Stark’s body, then he very well might be alive.

“We don’t know,” the voice on the other end said in a grim tone. “Right now, we’re focusing on getting through the rubble and finding the Mandarin. This might embolden others. If the Ten Rings can take out an Avenger-“

“Other groups might try too.” The Maggia. The Jade Syndicate. The Ten Rings might go for a second Avenger. There were a million groups out there, each of them more dangerous than the last, each eager to prove themselves.

“At least HYDRA’s dead,” Clint deadpanned.

“Don’t even joke about that. With how today’s going, they could pop up screaming that stupid catch phrase and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He sighed. “I saw a news thing. It looks like a mess.”

“It is, which is why Fury’s got me trying to figure out what the hell is going on.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “Easier said than done when the entire world is focusing on Tony Stark’s possible death and I’m trying to figure out what the hell the Ten Rings is doing.”

And it was easier said than done when the enemy was an organization that literally existed for years before, and would most likely exist long after they were all dead. Clint glanced towards the door of the bathroom, knowing that he was running out of time. People would think it was weird he left the bar at all. He didn’t know if he could help, if he wanted to help, but he knew that he couldn’t just let her go.

“Do you need me to come in?” The offer slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He knew that he wasn’t being held hostage here. He was free to leave at any time. He just didn’t want to leave. Not when leaving Alaska meant going back to everything he’d run away from.

Not that Clint Barton would ever admit to running away from SHIELD. Or her. Especially not her.

Though she was damned aware that he _was_ running from her.

“No.” Her voice was firm as she said, “Right now, we’ve got it handled. Cap’s in the Middle East trying to find a trail. Rhodes is there too, I’m in contact with both of them. I’m keeping an eye on everything. We don’t need you.”

She didn’t mean it to be hurtful. She meant it to reassure him that he was fine where he was, in the freezing cold and far away from anything involved the fight of good versus evil. That was what she meant.

That didn’t mean her words didn’t sting.

“Just let me know, alright?” Clint swallowed heavily as he leaned his head back, locking the bathroom door when he heard people approaching it. He did not want anyone to hear this conversation.

“Copy that.”

She was about to hang up. God knew the next time they might talk would be. And one of their allies might be dead and she might be trying to figure it out. Even with how many mistakes he’d made in the last few months, he couldn’t let not saying goodbye to her be added to that list.

“And Nat?” Clint swallowed, looking at the ceiling before saying, “I miss you.”

There was no answer as the line went dead.

He couldn’t be too surprised, after the fuck ups he’d made in his leaving SHIELD. She might never forgive him for it. Clint wouldn’t blame her.

He was never going to forgive himself, after all.

* * *

 

_“You have heart.”_

_The staff touched his chest, and Clint knew nothing more._

_And then he knew_ everything _._

_Ice shot through his body, rushing through his bloodstream and numbing him to everything. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stop hyperventilating. His mind felt blank but overwhelmed. Nothing made sense, and everything in Clint’s world was twisting and turning until only one thing made sense._

_Loki._

_He couldn’t breathe. He lashed out. He tried to stab the god in the neck. He tried to cut his throat, stab his blade into his stomach, tried to kill him. It was only moments later, when seeing Loki still standing there, that he realized he hadn’t even moved._

_He hadn’t stabbed him. He hadn’t cut him, killed him. He hadn’t done a damned thing. He couldn’t. Not unless Loki wanted it._

_His gun clicked calmly back into its holster._

_Inside his mind, he screamed, unable to comprehend what was happening. He knew what was happening. He was aware of everything. But what overwhelmed every sense that he had was the overwhelming compulsion and requirement to do what was ordered by his god._

_No. Not his. Never his._

_He didn’t even realize that he’d been given an order, his body acting of its own accord as he turned towards Fury. The gun was out of his holster, in his hands, aimed at Fury, and he screamed inside his mind, a maelstrom of will slamming against the hurricane of ice in his mind._

_He fired a shot at Fury. He saw it aimed towards his head, and it was only a last second, sharp jerk that stopped it from being a kill shot. Instead, he went right for where he knew Fury’s Kevlar would be the thickest, where it would stun him but not kill him._

_He followed the god out of the room, not looking back at the downed director. He’d done his duty, and as the gun slipped back into his holster, the pressure in his mind continued to grow, fighting down any sense of willpower or defiance Clint had. He couldn’t fight it. He already knew it, brutally aware of everything around him, of the ice in his mind and the god in front of him._

_Project Pegasus was falling. Coulson was somewhere up above. If Fury was here, Hill was. People he cared about were in danger, and Clint had been reduced into a puppet._

_Fury might die. Hill might die. Coulson might die. And he might have helped with it._

_He followed the god, while his mind screamed._

* * *

 

 As Loki’s voice died on his ears, Clint shot up in bed, drowned in sweat, a knife in his hands as he stared in front of him at the darkened cabin.

Everything was dark. The thick curtains shielded the outside world from view. Everything was normal; no one was in the cabin with him. Everything was normal. He was safe. He was in the safe house, far away from anything or anyone, and he was fine. It’d only been a nightmare.

They were far more common than Clint would have liked.

Clint was fairly sure it was New Year. It was sometimes hard to keep track of the passage of time, of the ends and beginnings of days, but he did his best. When he occasionally did get enough of an internet signal out here form the SHIELD equipment he’d smuggled, it was enough to reorient him on what time really was.

“Happy New Year, Barton,” Clint muttered as he reached for his hearing aids, sitting in the tiny bowl he kept on his bedside table. “Happy fucking New Year.”

It wouldn’t exactly be a challenge for this year to be better than the last, at least. All he had to do was not get brainwashed by an alien god and contribute to the death of his mentor.

He slipped his aids inside, taking another deep breath as he looked back around at the cabin, his eyes adjusting easily. The knife was set back on the table, within easy reach. He was still alone. He was still alone in this safe house, lonelier than ever, but he was safe. He was safe and anyone that he might hurt was safe, and that was all that mattered to him.

 _She_ was safe from him in particular.

It was then he heard the knock on the door.

Clint looked up sharply, his eyes narrowed dangerously as he stiffened. His grip on the knife tightened. From the sound and ferocity of the knock, whoever was there had been knocking for a while. Unless he had something important, Clint did not sleep with his aids in. Parts of the good part about Alaska was the fact that he could take them out for days at a time and not have to listen to anything – not the wind, not the wolves, not himself.

He didn’t get visitors out here. Hell, no one knew where this cabin was. Only Fury and one or two trusted lieutenants would know. That made the list of potential visitors incredibly low, unless it was the luckiest bastard in the world to find him out there.

Then again, luck didn’t usually exist anywhere near him.

Clint tugged on a shirt, picking the knife back up. His left hand remained behind the door, hilt of the knife gripped tightly, and his right hand pulled it open. Clint took another deep breath before pulling the door open, gritting the teeth as a flood of cold air hit him.

The person on the other side managed to surprise him but not at the same time.

Snow in her hair, Natasha Romanoff raised a thin, red eyebrow at him. “Happy New Year, Barton. Are you going to let me in?” she asked. “It’s rude to just leave a guest in the snow.”

* * *

 

_He was trying to kill her._

_The last few days were blurs of blue, of cold and blankness and everything that now terrified Clint down to his soul. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. But this was the worst of it all, when he was used as the weapon he was trained to be by a god who knew exactly who to point him at._

_And Loki had used him. He’d known what a weapon Clint could be, and he’d taken advantage of it in every way possible._

_Now, Loki had pointed him directly at one of the people Clint would set the world on fire for._

_They’d sparred before. They’d practiced and fought and trained together countless times over the years. This was different. He was trying to kill her. She wasn’t trying to kill him, but she was fighting like hell anyway. If she didn’t, he would kill her._

_Not right away. Not with what Loki had planned._

_He wanted her to win. He wanted her to kill him then and there, stop him from hurting anyone else he cared for. He was so damned tired, and he wanted nothing more than to stop, to be able to pass into the void of death that Loki’s voice had been promising into his ear for days. He wanted it to be over._

_The spell wouldn’t let him. The spell Loki had on him was too strong to fight, no matter how much he tried. All he could manage were little acts of rebellion – not killing Fury, defying Loki in that small way, it had taken nearly every bit of his willpower, and he wasn’t sure if he had any more left._

_And then Natasha won their fight._

_His forehead slammed hard into the metal handrail of the catwalks they fought in. Clint groaned as his head spun. Hope dared to sprout in his chest as he realized that his vision wasn’t as murky blue as it was before. There was no way it could be that easy. There was no way that breaking Loki’s spell would be as easy as hitting Clint on the head._

_On his knees, he looked towards Natasha - sweaty, victorious, and beautiful Natasha, who stared back down at him with green eyes he knew so well._

_“Tasha?” he gasped_

_The word slipped out from his throat, a confused plea for something Clint couldn’t put a name to. An end. Hope that he could survive this. A dagger to the chest. That plea contained all of those and more than Clint would ever be able to unpack._

_He got his wish as Natasha lashed out. The punch to his face had him unconscious within seconds._

* * *

 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

That was probably not the best reaction he could have had to finding Natasha in front of him. But really, he hadn’t expected to see anyone this far out in the middle of nowhere Alaska, especially not her. Natasha being here was literally the last thing he expected. Their last few talks hadn’t gone that well, after all.

"Standing in the snow. Maybe I'll go build a snowman." Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm here to see you. Now can I come in or not?"

Clint shook his head, giving a long-suffering sigh before opening the door further. The last thing he wanted to do was let some of the precious warmth get out of the cabin and get back into the air. It was freezing cold enough in Alaska, and the heat in this cabin had a tendency to act temperamentally.

“Thank you.” Natasha walked in, cat green eyes studying the inside of it. She looked faintly amused. “I can just imagine Fury in here," she admitted. "Maybe reading a book in the corner."

"I've always imagined him as a King fan," Clint replied. "Seems like a guy who would like horror."

"He sees enough horror in his line of work. Maybe he would need a break. I’m saying he reads Kerouac." Natasha shrugged lightly, tugging off her jacket before dropping it onto a chair. "Stark's alive. He survived the attack on his house, figured out everything. He's okay, he's alive. So are Pepper and Rhodes, and Steve’s back in the States."

That was a relief. Clint did not care to lose a teammate, no matter how much they might not know each other. Fighting aliens in a battle for survival tended to create strong bedfellows. And he knew that while the Avengers were disbanded, there was every chance that they would have to assemble again.

He only suspected it would be a matter of when, not if.

“Did you come all the way to Alaska to tell me that?” Clint asked, raising a brow over at her.

Natasha shot him a warning look. “No,” she admitted simply, abandoning her bag on the floor. “You’ve been here for months, Clint. It’s January. It’s 2013. You’ve been here for almost six months. You don’t think it’s been long enough?”

He should have known that she was here to talk about this. Clint didn’t know why he was surprised.

The archer shook his head, moving to the kitchenette to try and find something for them both. She preferred hot chocolate. He wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep, so he might as well break out the coffee. Of course he had hot chocolate for her though. It was a force of habit.

He knew that this conversation was a long time coming. Especially considering the last time he’d seen Natasha, back in New York, before his flight to Alaska. And now, he was going to have to suffer through it, no matter how glad he might be to see Natasha, no matter how glad he might be for some resolution to a question he’d been asking for six months.

“I don’t want to go back,” Clint said firmly, taking a deep breath before putting a kettle of hot water on the oven. Somehow, even after everything, he’d still picked up hot chocolate at his last supply run, even if he never drank it.

“You don’t want to go back or you don’t think you deserve to go back?” Natasha asked.

She knew him so damned well. He closed his eyes, sighing before looking back over towards her. “Who said it can’t be both?” Clint wondered.

“Because both of those options are stupid.” She gestured around at the walls. “I know you like your alone time. So do I. But there are better places than a cabin in the middle of the wilderness to hide. You have wolves for company. You could have gone to Anchorage at least.”

Clint gave a scoff of a laugh. “Did you come here to insult my vacation?”

“If you’re calling this a vacation, then damned right I’m making fun of it.”

He rolled his eyes again before taking the finished hot chocolate and coffee over towards her, handing her a chipped mug. “I’m safe here, at least.”

Natasha looked back over at him, sniffing at her drink before nodding approvingly. “The World Security Council isn’t going to go after you. Fury won’t let them. He has blackmail on them for the rest of their lives with trying to blow up Manhattan.”

“Because that’s gonna stop them.” Clint sat down at the table across from her, watching her carefully. “I don’t know what you thought you were going to get, coming here. I’m not ready to go back.”

Natasha shrugged lightly, sighing as she looked back over at him. “What are you waiting for? A sign? Another alien invasion popping down?”

Clint shot her a warning look before snapped, “If you only came here to harass me into coming back, you might as well walk out now.” The look on her face was blank, but he knew that his words had cut her in some way. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just… not used to social interactions anymore.”

“Were you ever?” There was a teasing edge to that remark.

He realized then that she was testing the waters, trying to figure out exactly he was. He knew that he was far better than he’d been in the immediate aftermath of New York. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to go back into the world, no matter how much Natasha might ever.

“I’m still having nightmares.” Clint took a deep breath. “Pretty much every night.”

Natasha swallowed, eyes flickering back to his face as she sipped at her hot chocolate. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing you can do about it.” There was no bitterness in Clint’s voice, only an exhaustion that spoke more to his mental state than anything else. He looked away, his eyes flickering back over to her before he asked, “Did you just come here on your own?”

“Partially,” Natasha admitted. She sipped at her hot chocolate before adding, “Fury wanted me to check in on you, and I wanted to check in on you. It was a mutual agreement. Worked out well for everyone. One Avenger just spent a few decades on ice, we don’t want a second one experience it.”

That, if nothing else, drew a snort out of Clint. “Cap’s doing well?”

“Throwing himself into SHIELD. We’ve still been partnered since, we’ve been getting a lot done out there. Fury’s happy with that,” Natasha admitted. “He’s been busy since New York. He asked me to check on you. See if he can get what he wants.”

He set his coffee down at he watched her, gray eyes studying her face carefully. She was a wonderful liar, but he knew her well enough that he was confident he could figure out the truth. “And what did Fury want?”

Natasha met his eyes, face cool, calm, and collected. “He wants you to come back.” Her finger traced the handle of the coffee mug. “So do I.” Something came over her face, an unreadable expression that made Clint realize exactly what was coming. “I thought… I thought we should talk.”

Clint swallowed, looking back over at her. “Okay,” he said, managing to keep his voice calm. “Then… then let’s talk.”

He knew this was coming. He’d thought about it over and over again over the past few months, replayed it in his head with his hearing aids out, held it as the one good memory of 2012. And they were about to talk about it at last, and Clint knew that whatever happened in this conversation, their relationship was never going to be the same.

“Coulson… he would have never wanted you to do this. Isolate yourself. Hide from everything.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him before saying, “Do you disagree with me?”

Clint sighed. “No. I know that he wouldn’t want me to. But it’s not that easy, Nat.”

The redhead gave a quiet, exhausted sigh. “As smart as you are, convincing yourself is another matter entirely.”

He nodded in confirmation, nodding back over at her before sighing. “You talk to Audrey?” he asked softly.

“A few times.” Natasha sipped at her hot chocolate. “She’s mourning. And I don’t think it’s easy to talk to me sometimes when I was a huge part of Coulson’s life at SHIELD. I thought you talked to her at the funeral.”

“I did.” Clint didn’t go into further detail, knowing that it was not something he was ready to talk about. “I miss him.”

Natasha gave a quiet, exhausted smile before saying, “We’re never gonna stop missing him.”

“We shouldn’t have to miss him at all. He should still be here.” Clint knew that he had to change the subject, but every conversation he could have with her was a verbal minefield. But there was one conversation they needed to have. “He… he would have wanted us to discuss the other thing we’ve been avoiding.”

Natasha’s entire face changed in an instant. She picked up her mug deliberately, sipping at it before looking back over at him. Her face was carefully neutral, but he knew her well enough to read the wariness and exhaustion in her eyes, with the tiniest flicker of hope deep inside.

“I think that he would.” Natasha wiped her mouth. “And… and I know I want to have this conversation, too.”

Clint took a deep breath, knowing that he had to take a chance. She’d gone all the way here, and he had to at least try. “Mind if I go first?”

Natasha nodded slowly, setting her hot chocolate on the table. “Go ahead,” she said simply.

He took a deep breath, squeezed his hand against the table, and took the plunge.

“I love you,” he said simply, taking a deep breath before repeating, “I love you. I’ve loved you for a hell of a long time. That’s not gonna change. _He_ knew that. He knew that and he used it against both of us and I’m terrified that someday, it’s gonna be used again, because I know it’s not going away. I love you. And I hate the fact that I don’t feel like you’re safe around me, because the last six months have literally been fucking killing me.”

Everything was coming out at once. Not even an alien invasion could have stopped him at that point.

“I miss you,” Clint whispered, finally looking back over at her. “God, Nat, I fucking miss you and I want to come home but I can’t. I don’t think I can yet. But I love you and that’s not gonna change, ever.”

Silence reigned between them. Natasha was staring at him, green eyes wide, open surprise on her face. Clint only took a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst. For her to laugh and walk away. He knew that she’d been working with Cap in DC, he knew Fury was planning it when he left New York, of course she would rather have Captain fucking America than Clint fuckup Barton.

Natasha gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re an idiot.” And then she stood, moved towards him, and kissed him.

It was about the last thing he expected, but that didn’t stop his hands from going to her head, calloused fingers curling tight into her hair. It was everything he’d wanted and expected and more, and Clint kissed her back hard.

She moved onto his lap, straddling him carefully. The coffee mug was knocked out of the way, spilling lukewarm liquid everywhere. Her hands were moving to tug off his shirt, and Clint couldn’t pay attention to anything else.

His arm moved underneath her, picking her up easy as he stumbled with her towards the bed, her in his arms and his heart against her for one glorious moment.

* * *

 

_“You’re leaving?”_

_He was waiting for a car ride to the airport when she came. Part of Clint hoped that he would escape the SHIELD base before she realized that he was leaving. Considering the awful luck he’d had in the last few months, he wasn’t surprised that of course he couldn’t get even that._

_Two weeks after the Battle of New York and he wasn’t sleeping. Two weeks after he’d been Loki’s weapon and Clint could barely look anyone in the eyes._

_And two weeks after Phil Coulson’s death, Clint had never hated himself more._

_“Yeah. I’m leaving.” Clint turned to look back at her, taking a deep breath. “I’ve got to get away, Nat. I have to get away from all of this.”_

_Natasha looked surprised, more than anything. “You weren’t even going to tell me?” There was a flicker of hurt in her eyes. The fact that he’d seen it at all was a sign of how deeply his nearly leaving without telling her hurt._

_Missions were different. They both understood that. But this wasn’t a mission. This was Clint running away because he couldn’t face the life that was overturned with everything._

_He took a deep breath before looking back at her and saying, “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to get away.”_

_“I understand that.” She did. He knew that better than anyone. If anyone would understand why he needed to get away, she would. “But this isn’t the answer. Running away from everything and isolating yourself isn’t the answer.”_

_“Seems like a damned good one to me.” Clint shook his head, turning his attention back over to her before saying, “Just let me go, Nat.”_

_“You know that I can’t.” There was an edge of pain to her voice that took him by surprise, and he closed his eyes. He knew that he was hurting her by leaving. But he couldn’t stay there. Not when he was convinced that he was a threat to her._

_Not when he knew what Loki was going to have him do to her._

_“None of this was your fault, Clint.” Her voice was firm, like she was stating a fact. Clint didn’t take it as a lie, but he damned well knew that she was wrong. It was his fault. All of it was his damned fault._

_Whatever reply he might have given her was interrupted by the arrival of his ride. A car horn beeped, and Clint flinched, looking towards it. He nodded at the driver before looking back over at her. He didn’t know what to say to her, and from the lost look on her face, she didn’t either._

_“You’re coming back.” It wasn’t a question It was a demand when it came to Natasha, and the look she shot him made him promise that. “Do you understand me? I’m gonna be waiting for you.”_

_He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know what to say. So instead, Clint stepped forward, cupped his hand in her face, and kissed her hard._

_It was hard and passionate and contained years of history and chemistry. It was something he’d held off on doing for so long that of course he would finally have the balls to do it when he was about to leave for Alaska of all places. She was kissing him back, and in the parking garage of the Triskelion, everything felt right in the world._

_Of course it would, when he was leaving the world he knew._

_When the kiss was over, Natasha was left standing there. She stared at him, taken aback and completely speechless. She shook her head, green eyes suspiciously bright as she watched him throw the back into the back seat of the jeep before he turned back to look at her._

_Clint’s throat felt dry, and it was almost impossible to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Tasha.”_

_He got into the car. He couldn’t stop himself from looking in the rearview mirror. She stood on the pavement, watching him leave, and he watched her until she disappeared from view._

* * *

 

 However long their perfect eternity lasted, Clint looked at her and smiled.

“You know you’ve got freckles on your back?” he asked, tracing patterns with his fingers. They were like constellations on her skin, and he knew that he was one of the very few to ever see them. “I never realized it.”

“You know, I don’t spend that much time looking at my back. I’ve got you to watch it for me.” Natasha threw her red hair to the side, looking back over at him. She’d grown it out more since he’d last seen her, and it was more wavy than curly, messy from their time in bed and her voyage outside.

Clint smirked, sighing as he rolled onto his back. “At least I’m good for something.” He looked back over at her. “Should probably keep talking. You know. Until we jump each other again.”

“It’s a nice intermission. Fuck, talk, rinse and repeat.” She smirked back down at him, though her face turned serious within moments. She sighed, closing her eyes as she watched him carefully. One finger traced down his arm, a straight line, before she lead it to the center of his chest, right over his heart.

“Just… have you wanted to do that for a while?” Clint asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“For a few years. Nothing major.” Her tone was nonchalant enough that it made Clint snort out of amusement. “I’m assuming you’ve wanted the same.”

“For a long time, yeah. Just didn’t expect it to be now, of all times.” Not that he was complaining, admittedly. Clint shook his head, sighing as he reached out and played with a few strands of her hair, the red bright between his fingers.

“Neither did I.” Natasha’s green eyes flickered away, and she took a deep breath. “You’re… you’re one of the few people I feel like I can be me with. You’re one of the only people I can be vulnerable around that won’t judge me, won’t use that against me.”

“I like it,” Clint admitted, taking a deep breath. “That we don’t have to be Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff around each other. We’re just… we’re just Clint and Nat. The goofy dumbasses who go play laser tag every few weeks and go to bars to watch hockey games.”

“Not Hawkeye. Not the Widow. Just Clint and Nat.” Natasha looked back over at him. “That’s what I want. You and me. Not just as partners in SHIELD. But as partners in everything else.”

He leaned over before kissing her shoulder. “We coulda probably gotten this conversation and kiss out of the way a long time ago,” he admitted. “I know I’ve been in love with you for a damned long time.”

“How long?”

Clint closed his eyes before admitting, “Paris. That kiss distraction tactic… I’m not that good of an actor.” He was almost embarrassed at admitting how long he’d hidden it. Her smile made it completely worth it, a delighted, crooked little thing. “That’s where I knew, at least.”

Natasha shook her head, rolling onto her stomach and resting her head against the pillow, arm curled up over it. “Ibiza for me. When I thought you drowned.”

That was a fun mission. He nearly had drowned. “I knew you were crying,” he teased lightly, smirking as she hit his arm gently. “Hey, not nice to hit a guy trying to show his sensitive side.” He paused before saying, “Ibiza… Ibiza was six months before Paris.”

The Black Widow smirked. “That it was.”

Clint would never admit how pleased he was that she had admitted to being in love with him before he was in love with her. “That’s… that’s kinda amazing.”

She rolled her eyes at him. He knew her well enough to realize that it was meant to be a fond eye roll. If anyone could make that work, it was Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha shook her head before looking back over, moving carefully on top of him before kissing him again. “What can I say? You’re something, Barton.” She kissed him one more time before moving off the bed, heading to grab her clothes from the floor.

Clint frowned. “You going somewhere?” he asked. His frown deepened as he watched her tug off her bra and panties.

“I’ve got to meet someone in Anchorage. I’m already late as it is.” She looked back over at him before saying, “If you’re staying here… it’s a way to make sure that any security footage in that little village, however miniscule it might be, won’t be found. I’m dropping off a payment.”

“So it’s a fuck and run?” Clint wondered, frowning. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed.” Maybe a bit disappointed. Hurt was definitely in there somewhere.

“It’s not. Not unless you decide it is.” Natasha finished tugging on her jacket, taking a deep breath. When she was fully dressed, boots on and ready, she went to her bag. She looked back over at him, pulling out a piece of paper. “See this?”

Clint nodded slowly. “It’s a piece of paper. So rare. So majestic.”

Natasha rolled her eyes before setting it on the table. “That’s a ticket from Anchorage to Seattle. One way. It leaves in five days. It’s yours. You can get on that jet and come back home with me, or you can stay here for the rest of your life, drowning in guilt.” Natasha’s green eyes cut through his soul as she said, “I hope you make the right choice.”

Clint stared at her before asking, “Did you just use sex to try and convince me to come back to civilization?”

“No. That was for us.” Natasha hesitated, her face softening before she met his eyes. “If you stay here, you’re gonna be missing people who love you. Including me. You don’t need redemption, Clint. Not from me. Not from our friends. Not from anyone. Because we care about you. And I miss you.”

Natasha moved back over to him, kissing him one last time. Clint sighed when she pulled away, his gray eyes flickered back up to him. “I told you I’ll wait for you,” she said. “And I still will. I just hope I’m not going to be waiting much longer.”

She walked out of the cabin, and Clint could hear the noise of a snow mobile a few minutes later. She was gone. And when he went to look out the window, the white, empty landscape was all that met him.

Clint’s gray eyes went back to the ticket on the table. He stood up, looking it over silently as he took it into his hand, his eyes moving back to the door.

He hoped he was going to make the right choice, too.

* * *

_The last leg on Clint’s trek to Alaska was a flight from Seattle to Anchorage. From there, he would make his way to smaller airports and eventually to Fury’s cabin. He knew that it would likely be months before he stepped foot in the continental United States again. Maybe the last time ever. Maybe he would like Alaska so much he would stay there forever._

_He doubted that would happen._

_Clint took a deep breath, sighing as he sat in a waiting area of a terminal. His hand moved to his phone, unlocking it and checking his email one last time. He didn’t expect anything. No one had contacted him since he was put on leave following New York._

_There was an email waiting, one that nearly stopped Clint’s heart and gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, something good would come out of this._

_Clint,_

_I wasn’t lying when I said this wasn’t your fault. And I wasn’t waiting when I said I’d wait for you. Whenever you’re ready, come back to me. I don’t blame you. No one else does but yourself._  
          _Coulson would never blame you._  
_Stay alive. For me. I’ll see you on the other side._

_Tasha_

* * *

 The flight to Seattle was already packed. Natasha was very comfortable in her seat, a magazine in her lap and her hair tied back. It would be a long flight, but easier to get to DC once in the main area of the US. From there, she hoped to get back to DC or New York within a few days. It depended how long she could beg off to sleep off the jet lag and exhaustion of spending more than a few hours in Alaska.

A man moved next to her, setting his bag in the overhead compartment. Natasha’s green eyes flickered up to him, and she caught a glimpse of the face. She couldn’t stop the victorious smirk on her face.

“Smug doesn’t look good on you,” Clint muttered, rolling his eyes. He moved into his own seat, leaning his head back. His eyes slipped shut easily as he took a deep breath.

“Everything looks good on me, Barton.” Natasha turned back to look at him. “You sure about this?”

Clint scoffed. “Fuck no, but I can’t keep hiding forever. Have to go back to SHIELD and the world sooner or later. Might as well be on my own terms.”

Natasha knew he was right. Either way, as the plane prepared for takeoff, she reached over to take his hand. Whatever their new relationship might be, she would be there for him. They would always be partners first and foremost. She would always have his back, no matter what. She squeezed his hand gently, a reminder of that promise.

He squeezed back, holding on for dear life.


	2. Iowa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha visit extended family in Iowa - and Clint confronts those he's abandoned in his time running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Alaska took place in late December, early January, Iowa takes place in November 2013. There will be another time skip in the third and final chapter.
> 
> Also, a trigger warning for past emotional, mental, and implied physical abuse is set for this chapter, mostly in regards to Clint's childhood flashbacks.

_His eyes fluttered open, and he realized he was upside down._

_Everything happened so fast. His parents were arguing in the front seat, and he was pretending to be on a rocket ship, anywhere but there in the car. He knew that tone of voice when it came to his father. Someone was going to get hit tonight, most likely Momma or Barney. They always tried to make sure that he wasn’t the one hit._

_And then his mother screamed, lights bright enough to force his eyes to squeeze shut, and everything was thrown around like a washing machine until he fell asleep._

_A six-year-old Clint Barton groaned as he tried to lift his head. “Momma?” he called, his voice cracking as his hands moved to his seatbelt. “Barney?”_

_He could see blood everywhere, in different spots all over the car. He knew the smell of it from the occasional cuts his father caused on Barney and Momma. He couldn’t hear much of anything. His own voice sounded like it was coming from far away._

_Clint whimpered as his hands moved to the seatbelt, trying to undo it. It was digging into his stomach, and it hurt, and he wanted to get out of it_ now _._

_“Clint, don’t move!”_

_Barney’s voice was sharp, and Clint whimpered, tears filling his eyes. “Barney, my ears hurt,” he said, whining as he put his hands to his ears. “Make it stop!”_

_His big brother was already out of his seatbelt, eyes wide. There was a deep cut on Barney’s forehead, bleeding into his eyebrow, and he flinched as a drop of it went into his eyes. He struggled to get towards his older brother. Clint cried again when Barney’s hand roughly grabbed onto him, trying to find the clip for the seatbelt._

_“I can’t, Clint, just – just stop moving.” The eleven year old bit his lip, one hand moving around his brother’s waist as he tried to pull him down. Clint cried out when he was dropped, crying almost instantly. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here.“_

_Barney was already pulling him towards the broken window of the car. He dimly noticed the blood on Barney’s knuckles, the lumps on them. He’d punched his way through the window. “But Momma-“ Clint looked towards the front, where he could dimly see his not moving mother._

_“Mom’s d-“ Even with his hearing going in and out, Clint could sense the strain on Barney’s voice. His tone was almost too quiet to hear as he added, “I can’t get Mom out. Someone’s gonna come to get her.”_

_Barney pushed him out of the car, helping him up the grassy ravine and towards the road. Clint was still crying, looking back at the car. His father was thrown over the steering wheel, and there was more blood everyone. He could dimly see his mother, but when he moved to try to get to her, Barney stopped him, grabbing onto him and refusing to let go._

_By the next day, Barney and Clint were wards of the state._

_The year after that, they were on the run with only each other to trust._

* * *

 

Months after he returned to civilization, over a year and a half after New York, Clint found himself on the way to something that honestly terrified him: a Thanksgiving with family.

When Clint had been abandoned and arrested as the scapegoat of Trickshot's heist, his court-appointed lawyer was a sharp and fierce lawyer named Laura Stiles. Within two days, his brother Barney had managed to wrangle an emergency leave, and was arguing with Laura about everything. They'd been too busy arguing to notice Coulson slide in and recruit him.

Less than six months after that, both Laura and Mia had been targets of a conspiracy designed to take down their CIA mother Marion. Clint had been volunteered by Fury as the bodyguard, and Barney had shown up after Clint had nearly died protecting them. This time, the meeting between Laura and Barney had gone much better.

Within a year of that, Clint and Mia had a shared nephew in Cooper and Barney and Laura were engaged, and married on their first anniversary.

Partially due to that and partially due to the fact that Mia and Laura were both genuinely kind people, Clint had been more or less adopted, and so had Natasha upon her partnership with Clint becoming more permanent. Mia lived in and around DC, and would hang out with them on occasion, and visit them in New York. Clint and her made a point of texting each other every few weeks to check. Once, a year or two ago, Natasha had served as a bodyguard for Mia at a medical conference, and whatever happened there was buried under blood oaths and a solemn promise never to reveal it to anyone.

Visits to them were normalcy that he honestly never experienced before. It was a domesticity he knew his future would never hold. And perhaps that was why he kept it to the more domestic holidays of the year.

His calloused fingers tapped against the steering wheel. The road was rough and long since turned to dirt, but it was a road that Clint knew well. Decades ago, his parents brought him down this road in an on-its-last leg truck. A state police car took him and Barney here one last time as children to collect any belongings they wanted to bring with them to foster care. He and Barney hid there for a few nights after they ran away from their last foster home.

On a calm night so long ago, his drunken father reared off the road and crashed into a tree, killing himself and Clint’s mother.

The farm held a lot of memories. And Natasha seemed to remember more of them than he did.

“I don’t get it. I wouldn’t buy the place I grew up in.” In the passenger’s seat, Natasha sat with her feet on the dash. She looked out the window, watching the fields pass. Rural Iowa delighted and amused Natasha for a reason Clint could not understand. “Especially if it was in the middle of nowhere.” At heart though, Natasha Romanoff was a city girl.

“I thought that Ivan owned the house you grew up in for a while, the one in St. Petersburg.” Even if that growing up had been until Natasha was eight or nine and no older. Children didn’t exist in the Red Room.

“He does, but that’s not the point.” Natasha’s eyes flickered back to the road, to the fields and distant cows. “This home has a lot of bad memories for you and your brother.”

“Something to be said for reclaiming your past,” Clint mentioned, sighing as he drove forward. “Buying that farm house, turning it into something that we can make good memories in, somewhere Barney’s raising amazing kids… it’s a fuck you to our dad, and a thank you to our mom.”

And honestly, he could understand the appeal of raising a family far, far away from anything. There was no way an alien invasion or a psychotic god would pop up in Iowa of all places. There was nothing here to conquer but cows, and he was sure that the teenagers of Waverly fought that battle nightly. He'd put his money on the cows, personally.

Natasha only nodded thoughtfully. “Understandable.”

Clint smirked before saying, his tone playful, “And what’s with your prejudice against anywhere in the middle of nowhere? You complain about my place in Alaska, you complain about the farm-“

“That place in Alaska was awful and you know it. Your neighbors were wolves, Clint, wolves that would have broken in and eaten you if you died in there. At least the farm has some proximity to living people.”

“Today, the farm is going to be filled with drunk people, city girl,” Clint replied, making a turn towards the dirt road that would lead directly to the farm. “Mia said she started with mimosas this morning.”

“A drunk Mia is a fun Mia, at least. I can get drunk with her.” She glanced in the back where the food they’d brought was sitting, carefully stacked to avoid a mess. “Anything we made is going to be blown out of the water, you know. Except maybe my pumpkin pie.”

Clint laughed, not entirely bothered that their food would not be the highlight. “That’s what happens when your brother marries the daughter of a professional chef,” Clint teased, shaking his head. He nodded up at head. “Looks like we’re here. Ready for the swarm of children?”

“Two children do not a swarm make, Clint. And a newborn baby isn’t going to be a part of that swarm anyway.”

Clint didn’t reply. He didn’t even know if Laura delivered her and Barney’s third child yet. He hadn’t talked to his brother in over a year. It was only until Mia asked him and Natasha weeks ago at a random run-in while she'd been consulting Streiten in SHIELD medical if they were coming that Clint realized that he couldn’t keep running forever.

He had to stand back up. That meant seeing his brother and family again, no matter how nervous he might be about it.

“If Laura had the baby by now, at least the focus will be on the baby and not on my disappearance,” Clint remarked dryly.

“Then I hope she had the baby.” Natasha slipped her hoodie around her shoulders, sighing as she watched the road and the quickly approaching farmstead. “Think they’ll treat me differently now that we’re a thing?” Natasha asked after a moment.

They were taking it slow. Slow enough that a very small number of people knew about the change in their relationship. Not even Cap knew about her current relationship. The only one they’d told was Fury, who rolled his eyes and remarked that he’d been waiting for it for years. As long as it didn’t interfere with their work, Fury wouldn’t care. Hill was smart enough to have realized on her own, judging from the smirks she was shooting them both on occasion.

Coulson would have been thrilled. But Clint was not going to think about him today. His hand slipped to his pocket, fingering the velvet box he’d been keeping for a while. Maybe today would be the right day to give it to her.

Clint shook his head. “Coop and Lila already call your Auntie Nat. Just means that Laura will stop teasing Mia about a Stiles girl and a Barton boy getting together.”

Natasha snorted. “Mia will be thrilled about that too. She’ll break out the vodka for it.”

"If she hasn't already. She mentioned that Marion will be there for once."

"Oh, yay. CIA vs. SHIELD time."

The truck pulled up to the farm in that instant and Clint glanced around. He did love the farm more now that it was free from anything resembling the influence of his father. Barney’s favorite phrase was that _the best revenge was living well_. Turning the farm house into a place where he could raise three incredibly children with a wonderful wife was the best sort of revenge Barney could go for.

What had once been a dilapidated hell was now a well-polished, beautiful homestead, with refurbished barn. A carefully built swing-set stood in the middle of a flat area, along with a sand box, slide, and trampoline, a fence keeping it somewhat corralled and away from the pond on the property. Though Barney and Laura only raised chickens and a few horses, it was a beautiful home. Clint couldn’t deny that he loved to come back to here now that it’d been reborn.

Clint parked the truck, his feet hitting the ground a second later. “Home sweet home,” he hummed.

Natasha only smirked, looking up sharply when the door flew open. A little boy ran out of the house, dark hair messy and eyes wild as he hurried towards Clint. He couldn't have been more than six or seven, but he was clearly absolutely thrilled to see the two of them.

“Uncle Clint!” The boy grabbed onto his uncle, hugging him tightly. Clint only smiled, leaning down and hugging him tightly, ruffling his hair. “Uncle Clint, you came!” The boy was jumping excitedly, repeating over and over again and occasionally calling out for his father.

"Hey there, buddy," Clint laughed, ruffling his hair. The laughter was genuine, and he couldn't remember the last time he smiled like this.

“Hello to you too, Cooper,” Natasha chuckled, smirking back at her partner. She clearly noticed how he seemed happier already, and was relieved to see it.

"Hi, Auntie Nat," Cooper said, poking his head out from behind Clint and waving at her.

She knew that he needed this. No matter how much Clint might deny it, his brother and family meant so much to him, no matter how many times he tried to distance himself from them for their own safety. The fact that he was willing to come back at all was a sign she was grateful for. It was a sign that Clint was trying.

“You’ve gotten so big, Coop,” Clint remarked, grinning at his nephew as he knelt down carefully on the ground. He really had grown. A lot could change in a year. “What grade are you in now? Eighth?”

Cooper giggled before saying, “Second!”

“Second, already?” Clint grinned before ruffling Cooper’s hair.

The little boy hurried towards Natasha, hugging her tightly before tugging her hand. “C’mon, you’ve gotta meet someone!” Cooper was nearly bouncing out of excitement.

Natasha shot Clint a look, and the archer merely smiled, nodding before abandoning the truck and following his nephew. It was amusing to watch his seven-year-old nephew tug along one of the most deadly assassins in the world. It was even more amusing to see that smile on Natasha’s face, the fond and amused one that very few people could get out of her.

Cooper led the way to the living room, bright and airy and filled with abandoned toys and laughter. A little girl, about four years old, was sitting on the lap of a dark-haired woman, while a second brunette sat in the arm chair next to it, holding a bundle in her arms. An older woman with hair and similar looks to them both sat on the couch next to the younger woman and the little girl. Two half-empty glass of wine was in front of the adult women, and the little girl was coloring, crayons scattered around her.

The little girl’s hazel-gray eyes, identical to Clint’s, lit up when Natasha and Clint walked in. “Auntie Nat! Uncle Clint!” The little girl lunged, hugging onto the redhead first.

The smile that crossed Natasha’s face could have melted the strongest of steel hearts. It certainly melted Clint’s. “Hello there, Lila,” she greeted. “Oh, look at you, you’re as pretty as your mommy.”

“Flatterer.” The older dark haired woman in the arm chair only rolled her eyes fondly, readjusting something on her chest. Clint started slightly, his eyes widening when he saw that it was in fact a baby in his sister-in-law’s arms.

He couldn’t say anything. He had, in fact, missed the birth of his second nephew, Laura’s entire pregnancy, over a year and a half of his family’s lives – of his life. Clint tried to ignore the wave of rage that threatened to overtake him, seeing the look Cooper shot at him, and was glad when Natasha continued to deflect attention from him.

“I only speak the truth, Laura,” Natasha said, squeezing Clint’s shoulder after putting Lila down. "That's the Stiles genes. Or maybe the James genes. Certainly not Barton."

Marion James, a high-ranking member of the CIA and Laura's mother, only laughed. "Good answer," she said, shaking her head. "Think that's the SHIELD training right there."

"Always, Marion." Natasha set Lila down on the ground, waving at the other brunette woman, who took advantage of Lila's place on the ground to take another swig of wine. Marion rolled her eyes at her younger daughter, but stood up and refilled both glasses with a wine bottle that was on a nearby counter.

Laura Barton rolled her eyes fondly before saying, “No spy talk today. So I don't get grossed out by medical stuff, Dad doesn't get bored by spy talk, and Mia doesn't get a headache from lawyer talk.” She grinned before gesturing down at the newborn in her arms, most likely not more than a few weeks old. “Do you want baby cuddles, Auntie Nat?”

Natasha’s eyes lit up, and she grinned. “Absolutely. I brought diapers and toys for all of them.”

Lila and Cooper both perked up at the mention of toys, and Clint leaned down, handing Cooper keys to the truck. “They’re in the black and white bag in the backseat of the car,” he said. The kids were running out of the room and out to the car before Clint could finish his sentence.

There were exhaustion lines underneath Laura’s eyes, but the grin on her face couldn’t be ignored. “Someone put a tally mark under Nat’s column in the best aunt competition,” she teased to the younger woman on the couch.

Laura’s younger sister Mia only laughed. “I brought them actual stethoscopes to play with,” she protested, clearly not too upset about being shown up. She grinned at her mom when Marion brought over a wine glass, handing a one carefully over to Natasha before refilling her own.

“I brought them bouncy balls,” Natasha shot back, raising her wine glass in a challenge.

Mia smirked, raising it and tipping it slightly to her. “If you let me play with the bouncy balls, you’ll become my favorite too.” She stood up, smiling weakly before hugging Clint. “Hey there, archer.”

“Hey, doc,” Clint teased back, hugging Mia tightly. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Clint. It’s been way too long." She squeezed his hand, and Clint could see the question in her eyes before she decided not to ask it. He was relieved for that.

Natasha was already seated on the couch seat Mia abandoned. “Meet Conner,” Laura introduced, beaming over at Natasha, passing him carefully over to the redhead. “Conner Nathaniel Barton.”

The redhead froze, looking sharply over at her. “You’re serious?” she demanded, looking down at Conner. “Because if your mama is serious, you’re my new favorite. Don't tell your brother or sister.”

“We thought that it fit,” Laura explained, gesturing towards Clint and Mia. “Cooper Clinton Barton, Lila Mia Barton… so, Conner Nathaniel Barton.”

Mia and Clint looked back over at each other, a long-suffering exasperation in both their eyes. “Still hate that name?” Clint asked casually.

The doctor groaned. “God yes. You?”

“Cooper Clinton sounds like an _Archie_ character.”

Marion snorted. "I didn't try and talk her out of this one. Conner Nathaniel Barton actually sounds like a solid name."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom." Laura rolled her eyes before saying, “Someday, if either of you have children, I will never stop making fun of their names.”

“I’m eternally single, so no luck there,” Mia pointed out, smirking back over. “And my kids would get awesome names.”

"Probably named something ridiculous," Natasha teased.

Clint shook his head, looking back to the four women in front of him. There were good things in the world. He knew that. Clint’s therapy sessions with Andrew Garner talked about looking for the good things in life, listing good things people did to counteract the horrors done to him by Loki.

Laura was an amazing mother, warm and beautiful with a kindness in her soul that reminded Clint of Edith Barton, and a sharp lawyer mind. Mia was a brilliant doctor dedicated to helping others. Even if she was in the CIA, Marion had never been anything but cordial to him and Natasha, and had helped to support Barney and Laura in their life together. Natasha fought to protect the innocent, and the smile on her face as she held little Conner.

Maybe in another life, he and Natasha could’ve had a shot at this. That was a wound Clint didn’t want to pick at that night. But those were enough good things to list for now.

While Mia and Natasha chatted and looked over their nephew, and Marion distracted the returned Cooper and Lila, Laura moved to Clint, raising an eyebrow at her younger brother-in-law. “I’m not going to ask,” she promised simply. “But if you need to talk to me…”

“I will.” Clint managed a weak smile at her before asking in a deliberately casual tone, “Where’s Barney?”

This was what he wasn’t looking forward to. Barney had to be livid with him for his disappearance, for not talking at all, and for only saying he’d come to Thanksgiving a few weeks before. Judging from the sigh that came from Laura, he knew that it was going to be as bad as he expected.

“He’s out checking on the horses,” Laura mentioned. “Jessa just had a foal, so we have to keep a close eye out. He’ll be back in soon. Dad’s in the kitchen though.”

And wasn’t that just another person he had to confront.

“It’s not going to be fun, is it?” Clint asked simply.

Laura sighed. “You’re Bartons. You’ll find a way. You always do.”

“I still think I’m gonna lead up to it though, talk to your dad first.” Clint moved and leaned down to peck Natasha’s cheek gently, trying to draw courage from it. Laura’s brow rose quickly, and Mia gave a delighted gasp, her dark eyes wide as she stared between the two. Marion looked surprisingly smug at the action.

“Shut up,” Mia said, looking between the archer and the spy. “Are you two together now?”

Laura shook her head, the smile clear in her eyes. “About damned time.”

Natasha only smirked, and Clint left her to the interrogation of three women with James blood. She would enjoy it far more than he did, after all.

* * *

 

  _To Carson’s Carnival’s credit, they were at least peripherally aware that several of their performers were underage, and in the case of the Barton boys, runaways. One of the horseback acrobats, Emily, tried to teach them on occasion, though she’d barely graduated high school herself before having her daughter. She knew enough to make sure they knew how to read._

_“So, tell me, how did you find the solution to the math problems?” Emily tugged a hand through her hair, looking over at the three kids sitting in front of her in her trailer. She was already half-dressed for her performance tonight, and applied glitter to her face as she talked with her wards._

_Barney was reading a thicker book, though he was paying attention. Clint sat on the ground next to a pretty blond girl a year or two younger than her. He had a book in his hands, though it remained unopened. His back leaned against a cabinet as he wondered if his own mother might have helped with homework years ago._

_Adelynn, Emily’s young daughter and aspiring equestrian herself, beamed, raising a hand before saying, “Subtraction, because you have to take five out of twelve… and it’s seven.”_

_“Good job, Adi.” Emily winked at her daughter, looking over at Clint before saying, “What about you, Clint? How was your homework?”_

_Clint glanced down at the book. His hearing after the accident that killed his parents wasn’t the same as before. Voices and sounds were muffled. It was easier to concentrate, but he sometimes missed when people were speaking to him. So Emily had gone above and beyond – and found a book on sign language in a secondhand shop near one of their stops._

_It was hard. But Naomi Barton once said that the men of her family loved challenges. Learning sign language was just one more. And with there being occasions where Clint’s hearing could go out, he knew that he wanted to make sure he could communicate._

_“I’m trying,” Clint replied, looking back up at Emily. His grey eyes were bright before he said, “I’m gonna get it.”_

_“I know you will, Clint,” Emily promised. She smiled warmly at the boy, ruffling his hair. “You’re a smart boy. And all three of you can reach anything you can set your minds to.”_

_Adelynn beamed happily at the praise from her mother, smirking back over at Clint. Barney merely rolled his eyes, too old for that type of encouragement, even from the closest thing the Barton boys had to a mother since Naomi Barton’s death._

_The moment was broken by the sound of a cough. Emily’s warm demeanor changed instantly, the pretty blonde frowning over towards the entrance. The man standing there, silver threading through his dark hair, merely raised an eyebrow. Adelynn sat up straighter, her eyes brightening. Clint’s own spine stiffened, while Barney moved to his feet, looking wary and exhausted at the mere sight of him._

_Jacques Duquesne, after all, was the closest thing to a mentor that they had, as hard a man he might have been. He just so happened to resemble their father in temperament for Barney and Clint to be comfortable._

_“Bartons, it’s time to go back to work.” Jacques’ eyes flickered between the two. “Both of you.”_

_Clint knew what that meant. They’d been out of training too long. He could see it in the slump of Barney’s shoulders, tightening of his face. Barney would have to keep training with his crossbow. Clint would have to go back to practice his archery. The bandages on his hands and developing callouses on his fingers twitched at the thought of returning so soon._

_He’d never been good at anything before. Not as a child at the farm, not in foster care. But he’d picked up a bow one day to prove to Buck Chisholm that he could, and there was a talent that Jacques realized he could use. Especially in regards to scamming the drunks who hung out around the edges of the circus._

_“Jac, they’ll be over in ten minutes,” Emily countered, eyes narrowing dangerously at him. Few dared to stand up to Jacques Duquesne. Emily Court had no fear, not even against her daughter’s father. “Just wait for them.”_

_Adelynn shuffled at her seat before looking back over. “Papa, I’ll come and help. Can you help with my knife throwing?”_

_“Later, Adelynn.” Jacques’s cold blue eyes flickered back to Emily, and Clint caught something in his gaze soften. Everyone at the circus had a soft spot for Emily, from the grizzled old horse trainer to the drunk daredevil Buck Chisholm to Jacques himself._

_That soft spot did not extend to their daughter, and Clint watched again as Adelynn’s face fall at the dismissal._

_“Barney, come with me. We need to make sure you’re ready for tonight’s show. I expect no mistake after last night’s performance.” Barney flinched at the mention of it, and nodded, moving to his feet before following along. He shot an apologetic look at Emily before disappearing back into the sea of preparation._

_Jacques looked over at Clint before adding, “Barton, I expect you to be practicing your archery very soon. Do not stop until I come back and find you.”_

_Clint only nodded, gray eyes flickering down. That could be anywhere from an hour to six. There was no way to tell when it came to Jacques._

_The circus man walked away, and Emily shook her head, sighing as she ruffled Clint’s hair. “Take your time in getting there. Make sure you grab something to eat on the way,” she said. She kissed the top of Adelynn’s head before walking off after him._

_That would be an argument. And Emily and Jacques’s arguments always shook the camp._

_Clint looked over at Adelyn. The little blonde girl watched her mother walk away, but did not follow. She knew what was coming as well as he did. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently._

_“Aja asked me to walk the dogs earlier,” he mentioned. “Want to come with me?”_

_Adelynn’s bright eyes lit up even more, and the grin she gave as she nodded would have been enough to light up the entire world. The two ran off towards the kennels hand-in-hand, beacons of innocence in a carnival far darker than they would ever realize._

_In a few years, with a stab wound to his stomach, Clint would find out just how dark and just how vicious Jacques Duquesne was willing to go to protect his interests._

* * *

 

In all honesty, Clint admired Liam Stiles.

Liam Stiles was a man who loved openly and fully. Most men, especially in the seventies and eighties, would have been wary of their wife being so involved in the CIA. Liam had accepted and encouraged his wife's career, and focused on raising Laura and Mia. He support Mia and Laura in their medical and law school respectively, and had managed to open his restaurants, becoming one of the top chefs of the country. He loved his children more than anything, and loved who his children loved.

He’d just so happened to include Barney and Clint as his children after Laura and Barney married. Not to mention Natasha after she and Clint became close. That openness was something that amazed him.

Clint would always regret not introducing Liam to Coulson while he had a chance.

“I’m glad you made it this year, Clint,” Liam mentioned as he sprinkled in some spices to the homemade mashed potatoes. “The kids missed you a lot last year, Cooper especially. He looks up to you.”

“Glad to be here,” Clint replied, sipping at his beer. He set the bottle down before continuing to slice the apples in front of him for the pie. “It’s been too long.”

This was a tradition he’d missed – joining Liam in the kitchen for conversation and for Clint’s admittedly impressive skills with a knife. It wasn’t often that he could use his knife-fighting skills to slice and skin apples, but it was a nice break.

As a chef by trade, Liam could appreciate the benefits of isolationism, though in admittedly completely different areas. He was a man who needed his space in the kitchen. Clint was a man who needed space in every other aspect of his life.

“So,” Liam said. “New York. You were there and then not here for Thanksgiving or Christmas. I’m not stupid. You’re alright?”

Clint nearly choked on his beer, but recovered quickly. He took a deep breath, setting the glass bottle down before looking back to Liam.

How the hell was he supposed to reply to that?

_Oh, I’m fine. I was brainwashed by an alien god and used as a living weapon for a few days, spent like six months in Alaska, and only returned to civilization a bit ago and I don’t really want to be here but I’ve got a new nephew to meet and Laura might have killed me if I skipped and continued not talking to Barney. How about you, how’s the new restaurant?_

Even with how open minded Liam Stiles was, he would not take that well.

“I wasn’t at Thanksgiving or Christmas last year for a reason,” Clint said carefully. He didn’t want to lie to Liam . He deserved better than that. “I just needed some time to recover from it. Nat too.”

“I assumed one of your missions went wrong. And then I realized you were most likely in New York.” Liam sighed. “Even with a wife in the CIA, I thought my father saw the strangest thing in the world. My father was in the 107th, back in the forties. Captain America saved him when he liberated the Azzano camp. I thought that was the craziest thing the world would ever see.”

Clint shook his head. “And then Tony Stark became Iron Man.”

Liam snorted. “And then Tony Stark became Iron Man, aliens fell from the sky, Norse gods turned out to be real, and the soldier who saved my father was pulled from the freezer. Something else might have happened since then, I haven’t opened my phone for at least two hours.”

Clint had to admit, the summary of the last few years put together was somewhat insane. “It’s even worse when you put it all together, you know.”

The chef laughed, sprinkling some salt into the mashed potatoes. He added a bit of thyme to the turkey before slowly lowering it back into the oven. “And where do you fit in all of it?” Liam wondered.

Clint snorted. “As mortals playing among gods, maybe?”

Because what else were he and Natasha? Compared to the others, they were breakable. But they’d survived the Battle of New York as well as the others had, without suits of iron or vibranium shields to protect them. They’d survived that fight with their skills, wits, and luck.

“Or gods in human form,” Liam half-joked. “I saw footage from that fight. You two survived it. Not many people could say that would be possible.”

“A lot of other people survived that battle, too.” He remembered all of them. A girl, not more than twenty, with a partially broken spine who Tony was paying the hospital bills for. An old man with a broken leg who would never walk again without assistance.

And then there were the dead, the ones whose names Clint added to his failures.

“Yes,” Liam conceded before going to pull two more beers from the fridge. “But not everyone fought in it. Soldiers have their own scars.” He shot him a look before sighing, “You should go talk to your brother. He’s in the barn, watching Jessa and her foal.”

“How mad is he?” That was the first thing he could think of. He knew he couldn’t avoid Liam. Not when they would be at the same table within an hour or two.

Liam gave a dry smile. “Barney is as happy as a man can be after his brother fights in an alien invasion, disappears into the wilderness for a few months, and then resurfaces over a year later for Thanksgiving.”

“Great,” Clint sighed. “This will be fun.”

* * *

 

_An eighteen-year-old Clint woke to the sound of a heart monitor. He couldn’t remember what happened, though he dimly comprehended that the stabbing pain he still felt in his abdomen was not natural. His eyes were open for seconds, confusion crossing his face, as a familiar voice shot at him a question._

_“What did you do?”_

_His grey eyes flickered lazily over to the sound of the voice. Barney sat in an arm chair, looking exhausted. At least four coffee cups sat on the table between the chair and Clint’s bed, one on its side with bits of coffee staining the plastic of the table._

_Everything came back within seconds._

_Jacques, outside a tent, a brown leather bag in his hands, heavy with Carson’s hard-earned money. Buck Chisholm trying to calm the situation down, a terrified Adelynn being held back by him. Embezzling. Lies. Jacques trying to leave with Adelynn now that Emily was dead._

_Adelynn’s scream as her father’s knife sliced into Clint’s stomach._

_Clint shook his head before saying, “He was stealing money from Carson. He was gonna run. Adelynn-“ He had to stop Jacques. This was Adelynn’s home, Carson was good to them all._

_And if Emily Court and Naomi Barton taught Clint anything, it was that he had to do something when wrongs were done in front of him._

_“Adelynn went with him.” He looked back sharply at Barney, his eyes wide. Barney swallowed before repeating, “Adelynn went with him. Emily is dead. She doesn’t have any other family than Duquesne.”_

_The drugs might have gotten to his head. Clint shook his head, unwilling to believe the idea that Adelynn, the girl he’d lost his virginity to two years back, the girl who laughed and loved the dogs in the circus, the girl who adored the horses more than anything, the girl in a silver leotard and tiara who smiled and performed every night, went with a man who’d dismissed her for years and stabbed him._

_She wouldn’t. There was no way._

_“She wouldn’t go with him,” Clint said, groaning as a hand went to his stomach. “She-“_

_Barney shook his head, sighing as he looked back over. “She would,” he replied simply. “And she did. She went with him because Jacques was her family.”_

_“She had us.” Clint’s voice was tired. “She had Emily and she had us.”_

_“And cancer killed Emily.” Barney gave a bitter, tired smile. “And we’re not her father. We might not have a real one, Clint, but we’re both smart enough to know that people are gonna chose their family, right or wrong. Adelynn just chose hers.”_

* * *

  
He walked out to the barn with two beers.

Where Clint resembled Edith Barton, Barney took after their father. But the older Barton brother was in every way a better man than Harold Barton, in some ways naturally, in others completely deliberately. But one only had to look at them side-by-side to see that they were clearly brothers.

One only had to watch them interact to realize the weight of the history behind them.

Barney sat on a barrel, watching a pretty, painted mare and a clearly new foal. The foal was happy next to his mother, its skin darker compared to his mother, but close to the stallion that Clint knew Barney had, one that he had a deep soft spot for as much as he would complain about his pain-in-the-ass horse.

“How is it?” Clint asked, trying to keep his voice light, trying to hide just how nervous he truly was.

His older brother didn’t look at him, but he did accept the beer that was handed to him. “The foal’s doing well,” he replied simply. He shook his head before saying, “She’s never had a foal before. Jessa, I mean. We were both nervous about her. But the baby’s doing well.”

The foal was feeding itself greedily, the mother neighing and readjusting her position. Barney stood up, grabbing a few sugar cubes and feeding the mother, Jessa neighing again as Barney rubbed her neck. Barney finally looked back over at him.

“You know what the kids want to name the baby?” Barney scoffed before answering his own question, “Hawkeye. They want to name the damned thing Hawkeye.”

Clint’s stomach dropped. “Of course they do,” he muttered, taking a deep breath to mentally prepare for this conversation. “Coop and Lila are weird kids.”

“Stop with the bullshit redirecting. Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Barney asked, his tone deceptively calm. He crossed his arms against his chest and glared at his younger brother. Jessa whinnied slightly, sensing the tension and moving with her foal.

Clint swallowed. “You’re not gonna believe me.” He didn’t even know where to begin.

“My little brother was in the thick of a fight with aliens. I’ll believe a hell of a lot.”

“So you do know I was there?” He wasn’t surprised. Michael figured it out, Barney would have been able to. The archer scoffed before saying, “Did you tell Laura?”

“Of course I told Laura, I don’t keep secrets from my wife.” Barney gave a decidedly bitter laugh before looking back over. “I’m not stupid, Clint. There’s only so many archers that could survive a fucking alien invasion. Only one I know is that much of a survivor and that good with a bow. Doesn’t matter that they didn’t get a look at your face in it. You’re a survivor. Only you could survive an alien invasion.”

Barton boys were survivors. Clint and Barney were proof of that.

Clint only prayed that Cooper and Conner would never have to prove it.

“So tell me, how does an alien invasion cause you to drop off the face of the earth?” Barney wondered.

The archer shook his head. “It’s complicated.” He did not want to go into this. God, he did not want to go into this.

Barney shook his head before snapping, “You been sleeping for the last thirty-something years? Our lives are complicated, Clint. Our lives are insane. This world is insane. I just want to know why my brother disappeared.”

He could feel his temper rising at the relentless pushing. His hands curled tightly against the wood of the door to a stall. Splinters stabbed into his naked skin, but the pain was grounding more than distracting.

“I was brainwashed.” Saying it out loud was something else. He hadn’t said it out loud before. He’d barely thought it to himself. “An alien god came down in a portal, put a fucking scepter to my chest like he was some king, and he brainwashed me. I couldn’t fight him. I killed people I knew. I didn’t hesitate.”

He shook his head, slamming his hand hard into the thing. “He was gonna make me kill Natasha in... in a horrible way. He was going to make me kill everyone until I finally killed myself. Natasha saved me. But Phil died before I could stop it.”

Phil died. Phil Coulson was dead. Barney looked sharply back over at him, his eyes widening when he realized exactly what happened, why Clint would have been as much of a mess. Barney knew damned well that Phil Coulson was the reason that Clint was alive today. He knew how close they were.

And he knew how badly Phil Coulson’s death would affect his little brother.

“Phil, as in…” Barney almost seemed to hope that there was another Phil that Clint was close to in SHIELD.

“Phil Coulson. My handler. My mentor.” One of the only people who’d ever believed in him.”

The older man gave a rough sigh, closing his eyes before turning his attention back to his younger brother. “I had no idea, Clint,” Barney pointed out. “You didn’t tell me.”

The archer scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m not eager to talk about how I caused the death of one of the only people who ever believed in me.”

Barney’s nostrils flared, his typical sign of anger, as he snapped, “I have always believed in you and you know it.”

“You’re my brother. It’s in your fucking job description.” Clint shook his head before saying, “Coulson didn’t look at me and saw a mercenary one bad job away from killing an innocent person. He saw someone with something that could be used for the better. He was the first person who looked at me and didn’t see a fuck up. And I got him killed.”

There was silence in the barn for a few moments, broken only by the occasional sound from Jessa and her foal. Clint stared at his brother, waiting for judgement, for yelling, for a threat and an order to leave this farm. None of it came.

Instead, Barney gave an exhausted sigh and looked back at his younger brother. “I only met the guy a few times, but from what I knew? He never woulda blamed you, Clint.”

The archer flinched, closing his eyes for a few moments. “Doesn’t mean I don’t blame myself. I was in Alaska, Barney. I left in May, after the Battle, and came back in January. I didn’t want to see anyone. Loki knew everything. About my feelings for Nat, about you and Laura and the kids, about Coulson… Loki asked, and I told him. I couldn’t stop him.”

“Last I checked, we didn’t have an alien god coming down to visit us.”

Because Loki had other goals in mind. He’d had other plans, and those plans did not include torturing Clint by going after his brother’s family. If he’d had more time, Clint wasn’t entirely sure that Loki wouldn’t have tortured him for the small acts of rebellion he’d managed against him.

He shook his head. “And that’s the only reason I can make myself come here.”

Barney sighed. “How long do you plan on punishing yourself?” he wondered.

Clint didn’t answer, merely sitting down on the ground of the stable. Barney moved next to him, sitting down and holding onto his beer. He cracked it open and took a deep sip, looking back at his younger brother. He wasn’t going to move on without a decent answer on this.

“When I don’t feel guilty,” Clint replied simply. “Whenever that is.”

Barney scoffed, clearly not satisfied with the answer. To Clint’s relief, he didn’t push, merely sipping t his beer and looking out the barn door. Mia and Natasha were outside with the kids, playing with some of the large bouncy balls that she’d brought. Laura watched on the porch with Conner in her arms. The sound of Cooper and Lila’s laughter came through loud and clear.

“You disappear again, I’m punching you in the face,” Barney mentioned.

Clint rolled his eyes, realizing then that a weight he’d long since become accustomed to had disappeared from his chest, replaced by something much lighter. “I’m sure you will.”

“I’m serious. Hard. Because you disappearing is shitty. Laura worries.”

“Just Laura?” Clint smirked, elbowing his brother lightly.

Barney rolled his eyes. “Shut up, asshole.”

“You first, dumbass.” Clint swallowed. “We okay?”

“I’m still pissed at you.” Barney looked back at him before pointing out, “But you’re family. And I’m not gonna abandon you because you’re a dumbass.”

“Yeah, I’m the dumbass,” the younger Barton boy replied, sarcasm heavy. “Keep telling yourself that, Barney.”

The older man only smirked and elbowed his younger brother. The brothers Barton remained on the ground of the stable, watching the next generation play, blissfully and innocently unaware of the changing world around them.

* * *

 

  _“I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”_

_Clint raised an eyebrow across at his brother. The porch of their old family home was a mess. Abandonment had turned the old home into a dilapidated ruin. Clint was fairly sure that there was a family of possums living in the second floor bedroom. But Barney was determined to do something here._

_He just wasn’t sure what the hell that was. And how in six months, he'd gone from having a partner in the Black fucking Widow and Barney had knocked up a lawyer and was seriously considering marry her._

_“What does that have to do with this old place?” Clint demanded. He kicked at a piece of wood before saying, “This place is a graveyard, Barney.”_

_“Doesn’t have to be.” Barney bent down, picking up the piece of wood that Clint kicked, and used it to point at a corner of the wraparound porch. “Picture a porch swing over there. Might be really nice. Set it in the right direction to watch the sunrise or sunset…”_

_Clint groaned. “You’ve got that look in your eyes.”_

_Barney shook his head before looking back over. “For the first time in a hell of a long time, I’ve got something to look forward to. I’m gonna be a dad. And this… I’m gonna build this place back up. I’m gonna ask Laura to marry me. Maybe we’re gonna raise our kid here.”_

_He was happy for his brother. He really was. But the domesticity, the peace, the family that Barney was desperately craving, was not something that Clint was sure he could get. Things were complicated at SHIELD. Especially with his new partner._

_“Just don’t get why you’re doing it here,” Clint admitted, sighing as he knelt down and picked up a piece of a long-destroyed toy. “There’s a lot better places.”_

_“Mom was here,” Barney pointed out simply. “That’s enough reason for me.”_

_Clint looked back over. “Mom would have wanted us to be happy.”_

_Barney gave a dry smile. “The best revenge is living well, little brother,” he replied. He turned back to his brother, eyes blazing in determination. “And I plan for every bit of my life from now on to be a big fuck you to Dad.”_

_Those were words Clint would remember for the rest of his life._

* * *

 

“I think we can count this as a success.”

After dinner, when everyone apart from Laura and Barney and their newborn son were still asleep, Clint wasn’t surprised that Natasha found him. He’d gone onto the porch, to the window swing that Barney spoke of so long ago, and watched the peace of an Iowa night that Clint forgot existed.

It was nice, in some ways, to thrive in this silence. But he was not going to say no to Natasha’s company.

“I didn’t get punched in the face, so, you know. It went pretty well,” Clint said, managing a small smile. “You have fun?”

Natasha nodded in agreement before plopping down on the porch swing next to him. “I did,” she replied. “Laura was glad to see you. Mia wants to go out to trivia when we’re in DC next. Marion and I teased each other about CIA-SHIELD shit.”

Maybe it would be nice to go back down to DC. It wasn’t New York.

Clint paused when he realized that he’d thought that. He couldn’t avoid New York forever. Not when it’d been his home for so long when he was off SHIELD. As many negative memories he had there, there were a hundred more good ones. He couldn’t abandon that now. He knew that he couldn’t avoid New York forever. And using this positive energy, using the confidence he felt, might be the only way he could do it.

“I want to go back to New York.” Clint took a deep breath before looking back at Natasha. “After this. I want to go back to New York. Maybe in a week or two, if Fury doesn’t have an op for us. But I want to go back. I don’t think I can keep running.”

There was something unreadable by Natasha’s face as she nodded. “You want me to go with you?”

“Absolutely.” He shuffled slightly, and she realized that he was almost uncomfortable. “I… I have something for you. Kinda a thank you present. Kinda a relationship present.”

Clint pulled a small box from his pocket. Natasha caught it easily when he tossed it. She frowned as she looked down at it. It was a simple velvet box, something she’d seen a million times before in the windows of jewelry stores she passed on the streets. The size of the box caught her attention, and she looked sharply at Clint.

“If this is a proposal, you might be jumping the gun a bit.” There was a tease to her voice, no matter how wary it might have been.

“It’s not a ring,” Clint assured her quickly. He’d always been very good at knowing what she was thinking. “Trust me, it’s not a ring. God no. Just open it.”

Natasha only nodded, opening the box slowly. She paused when she opened it, staring down at the item in the jewelry box.

It was a necklace, small and dainty and subtle. It was everything she wasn’t and yet so much of what she was. On the simple chain was an arrow, interlinked and held as a centerpiece, but somehow remained a part of the chain easily. It was simple, it was her taste, and she realized that Clint had an eye not just for targets, but for jewelry.

“An arrow?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow back over at her. There was a gentle smile on her face, and Clint relaxed as he saw that it was clearly successful.

“I just…” Clint took a deep breath before explaining, “It’s a thank you for being there for me. For not abandoning me from the Alaska incident. Guess you’ve been my arrow for so long. Pointing me towards what’s right. I wanted to say that out loud.”

Natasha watched him carefully for a few moments. “Am I allowed to laugh at how corny you just were?”

Clint groaned as he shook his head, leaning his head back. “Please, because I’m about to laugh at myself.” He smirked back over at her before adding, “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“I can get used to a relationship if I keep getting presents,” Natasha teased. She smirked at him, reaching over and pulling the necklace around her neck. “Help me out?”

“Does that mean I’m gonna get cool presents?” Clint asked. He smiled down at her as he reached over, clipping the necklace together and letting it rest on her neck. He had to admit that he loved how it looked on her. He also loved the fact that she clearly liked it. “I mean, we’re equal partners in this relationship, we should spoil each other.”

Natasha hummed. “Does it count if I buy you pizza and arrows?”

“You know me so well.” Clint leaned over to kiss her before sitting back down, reaching over to pull her legs over his lap as he looked back out on the fields. “Thanks again for coming with me.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She smirked back over at him before raising her beer. “To your crazy family.”

Clint shook his head before sipping his beer. “To _our_ crazy family.”

They sipped at their drinks, watched the night, and appreciated the quiet of at least one moment in their lives.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Barney Barton** – Norman Reedus  
>  **Doctor Mia Stiles** – Shiri Appleby  
>  **Liam Stiles** – Dennis Quaid  
>  **Emily Court** – Emily Holmes  
>  **Jacques Duquesne** \- Pierce Brosnan  
>  Marion James is the same Marion James as seen in The Punisher, and in this series is in fact Laura and Mia's mother and Barney's mother-in-law.


	3. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is sent after an archer in Central Park. Who he finds changes completes his slow descent into becoming an adopter of strays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussions of physical/mental/emotional abuse, insinuations of sexual assault, and Pizza Dog.

_Budapest was beautiful at night._

_Granted, sightseeing wasn’t high on Clint’s priorities at the moment. He was on a mission. Fury and Coulson thought that he was good enough to take down the Black Widow. It was either a sign of incredible faith in his skills or an attempt to kill him. Maybe even both, knowing Fury. He was always a two birds, one stone type of man._

_But one way or another, whether by fate or skill or dumb luck, Clint was the one standing, with the redhead kneeling on the ground. Whether by destiny or chance, he was the one who’d won the fight. He was the one who held her life in his hands._

_That wasn’t to say that the fight hadn’t been hard. They’d been engaged in hand to hand combat for nearly a half-hour straight, struggling for survival, both throwing everything into it – and throwing random items at each other, including plaster and bricks. They were both covered in cuts and bruises. He had a bad gash over his eye. Her shoulder was fucked from a bad flip. No matter how the battle went, no matter how many times the upper hand changed in those twenty-seven minutes, he won._

_And he had an arrow to her eye._

_He aimed the arrow at her eye, pointed directly at her pupil. One movement and she was gone. No one could survive an arrow to the eye. Not even a living legend like the Black Widow._

_He didn’t realize she was so young._

_She was barely in her twenties. She was so young. But the hardness in her eyes, the darkness, it was something beyond a girl of her age should know. It was beyond something anyone should ever know, darkness so familiar that it counted as home._

_But there was something in her eyes. An exhaustion. A readiness. An acceptance._

_She was ready to die._

_“Do it,” she said. Her breathing was heavy, from exhaustion, but not fear. There was no fear in her voice. “I deserve it.”_

_No. She didn’t._

_He stared down at the redhead. He knew his orders. His orders were to kill her then and there, put an arrow in her eye and leave her body on the ground. His orders were to kill the Black Widow._

_Once upon a time, another man’s orders were to find Clint and throw him in prison. He hadn’t done it._

_His choice was easy to make after that._

_Clint slowly lowered his bow, watching the look of surprise and suspicion cross her face. She didn’t move. She could have lunged at him and knocked him down and snapped his neck within ten seconds if she wanted to. She didn’t. She merely stared at her in shock as he offered a hand instead._

_“Just out of curiosity,” Clint said, his voice quiet. God, Phil was going to kill him. “Have you ever considered your future career?”_

* * *

 “I have a mission for you, Barton.”

Clint Barton never liked the Triskelion. It was too sharp, too uptight, and too far away from New York. But he, like every other SHIELD agent, was occasionally called down to SHIELD headquarters for exceptionally important briefings. That didn’t stop Clint from wishing he could have done it over the phone.

Clint was sure that Fury was using the Triskelion as part of a mind game, to convince the World Security Council that he was fit to return for duty. It was to send a message, and if it kept Clint’s ass safe from the World Security Council, he was ready for it.

That did not mean, however, that he couldn’t snark at Barton at least a little bit.

“You didn’t call me down here for a fun chat?” Clint asked, his eyes widening slightly as he looked back up at Director Fury. “Because that’s what I thought. Maybe even go to a bar. There’s a great bar nearby that my brother’s sister-in-law goes to all the time.”

Fury gave a long-suffering sigh, looking towards the ceiling. “To think I was glad to have one of my best agents back.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the sass, Director.”

“I doubt I could ever forget it, Barton.” Fury shook his head before repeating, “I have a mission for you. Sensitive. And important.”

“And what is that mission, sir?” Clint asked, raising an eyebrow over at Fury. He slouched in his chair casually, knowing Fury well enough that he frankly cared about any reaction he might have.

He was a smart man, and would be keeping an eye on everything. In a lot of ways, Fury was to Coulson what Coulson had been to Clint himself. Fury made a point of keeping an eye on Natasha after these years, and he would make sure to keep an eye on Clint.

The archer still wasn’t sure if he appreciated or hated that watch.

Fury tossed a newspaper at him, scowling deeply. “Read the front page.”

Clint took it, gray eyes flickering to Fury before looking down to the New York Bulletin page. A second front page from the New York Bulletin sat behind it. A single headline screamed out, and Clint realized exactly why Fury wanted him to look into it. It was right up his alley. Not to mention a taxi ride from his apartment.

CENTRAL PARK ARCHER STRIKES AGAIN: MUGGER SENT TO HOSPITAL AFTER ENCOUNTER WITH VIGILANTE.

“Do we know anything?” Clint asked simply. He read through the story quickly, eyes flickering past the byline, the name Norah Winters, and the other tidbits of information in it.

It was fairly simple, for a vigilante archer of all things.  A mugger was attacked in Central Park by an archer. He’d been shot in the shoulder and the leg, neither of them killing shots, but good enough that it would hurt like a bitch. The mugging victim had gotten away unharmed, and explained she never saw the archer. The mugger had been arrested shortly after being released from the hospital.

It was also the twelfth attack in the last six months.

“About the perpetrator or the attacks?” Fury asked.

“Either,” Clint admitted, reading through the story again. The archer hadn’t been seen once. All they knew that there was an archer who left no DNA evidence, not prints or hair or anything. This was a _smart_ vigilante.

“We’re not sure about age or gender, but we’re betting early twenties,” Fury explained, tossing him another file. “We know that they’re most likely from the Upper East Side, considering where most of the attacks have taken place. They’re going after muggers and other petty criminals.”

Clint sighed before looking back up at him. “You know I’ve got to ask. Any chance this vigilante was inspired by me?”

“Why do you think we have you on this?” Fury asked simply, raising a single brow. He moved and sat down on the chair at his desk, hands folded together. “We think there’s every chance. It’s a vigilante with a fucking bow and arrow, Barton. _Hunger Games_ ain’t that popular.”

Clint merely shrugged lightly, looking through the article again before taking the file on the desk and looking through it. They didn’t have a photo either. There was nothing about who this archer might be. No wonder SHIELD was interested in this.

“No photos?” Clint asked, frowning as he looked back up at him. “That’s either dumb luck…”

“Or open skill, from someone who’s been photographed before and knows how to avoid it.” Fury looked pleased that he understood what he was bringing up, and he added, “So between those skills, the archery practice, and the fact that the guy clearly feels something about justice…”

“So it’s a fact finding mission.” Clint nodded before saying, “I’ve got a place to start, and something to look for. That makes it easy.” He stood up, folder under his arm before asking, “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“We did notice one thing,” Fury explained, gesturing at a second newspaper clipping. “There was one case of this archer stopping a sexual assault. That perpetrator had arrows sent through both hands and both feet. And to one knee.”

Clint managed to resist the urge to make a joke, though barely. He didn’t manage to hide the slight wince. “That’s a lot of pain to inflict on someone. Almost overkill. Unless it’s personal and that’s why they made it that hard.”

Fury nodded, and Clint sighed. “Right now, we want you to find them,” Fury explained. “Find them and then decide what to do from there. Figure out why they’re doing it, who they are, anything and everything.”

“Is this a recruitment operation?” Clint asked. If there was an archer this good out there, he wanted to find him before the Maggia or private security company picked them up. Or before this archer went up against someone they couldn’t handle.

The Director shot him a glare. “Be smart about it, Barton. If you think this archer has potential, then yes. But do not recruit just to recruit.”

“Like Coulson did?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it, and Clint looked away. Coulson once recruited him because he thought that Clint had potential. Just looking at this archer, looking at their work and who their targets were, spoke to him in a way that he could almost hear Coulson’s voice in his head.

_Have you ever considered your future career?_

Fury shot him another look, sighing and scrubbing a hand on his face. “Coulson recruited those he believed had potential,” he mentioned. He looked back at Clint before adding, “And as long as he recruited people for SHIELD, he was never wrong.”

“I’ve got a fairly good track record too,” he pointed out. “I brought us Nat.”

“I still hold that was a fluke.”

Clint grinned. “You ever tell Natasha that?”

“Oh, who do you think called it a fluke in the first place?” Fury shook his head, waving him off. “Go back to New York. You’re still on limited duty. Just in case another alien invasion comes up.”

“That’s not stopping you from sending Nat and Cap on missions.” Clint tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and he sighed in frustration. “I’m sorry, sir. But I think I’m ready to get back out there.”

“You may be, but I’m not taking any risks. Especially not when certain members of the World Security Council still don’t believe you’re ready.” He didn’t need to say who. Clint had dealt with the council enough to know that some members – Pamela Hawley, Gideon Malick, and a few others among them – had never liked him.

Clint sighed before nodding. “That’s the only reason?”

Fury’s eye narrowed. “Is that your subtle way of asking if your new relationship with Romanoff is keeping you out of the field with her?” he demanded bluntly.

“No, I know you better than that.” Clint sighed, “Plus, I’m not that subtle in some things.”

He shook his head before explaining, “I want to make sure that you two are clear and solid before you go into the field together. Because as good as you two might be, things change when you go into the field with someone you’re romantically involved with.”

There was experience behind that explanation, and Clint raised a brow. “That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Fury snorted before saying, “Ask Val de Fontaine about Morocco someday.”

Clint couldn’t decide if he was horrified by this conversation or completely fascinated. At the very least, it confirmed Natasha’s long-standing theory that Nick Fury was involved with the Contessa herself in a way deeper than professional friendship. “…you were involved with a member of the World Security Council, sir?”

The Director of SHIELD waved his hand. “Go, Barton. You’ve got a vigilante to catch.”

He walked out of the office, file in his hand, and knew that whatever happened on this mission, it was going to be interesting.

* * *

 “Catching a vigilante, huh?”

“That’s right.” A week after his meeting with Fury, Clint frowned as he pushed a plate of cold pizza onto the coffee table, moving back to the kitchen to gather the rest of his Christmas dinner. “I’m gonna start next week. It’ll be like fishing. Just have to wait for a sign.”

“Does sound like more fun than I’m having.”

Clint smirked. “What, you’re not having fun with Cap?” he wondered.

“Just wish I was up there with you. First Christmases are supposed to be important. At least according to what Mia keeps texting me.”

The snow between New York and DC, along with the grounding of any flights between them, was keeping Natasha at Steve’s apartment in DC, while Clint was in his normal apartment in Bed-Stuy. He knew that they weren’t completely sentimental people, especially when it came to holidays such as this, but he did wish that she was up there with him and not in DC.

Instead, his only company was cold pizza, beer, and the repaying of the Grinch on the television. Which, granted, was not the worst Christmas someone could suffer. But it wasn’t the same as having her with him that night, making fun of bad Christmas specials.

“How’s Cap doing, anyway?” Clint wondered, trying to change the subject the best he could.

He’d only seen the super soldier briefly after his meeting with Fury, when he and Nat met up to go and grab lunch somewhere. There was still a hint of loneliness and loss in Steve’s eyes that Clint recognized, but he’d declined the invitation to join them for lunch, instead choosing to go and train.

If Nat could coax Clint into leaving Alaska and returning to civilization, she could get Steve Rogers to open up. It would only take some time.

“He’s good,” Natasha replied after a few moments. “Lonely and hiding it. Thinks his neighbor is cute. I’m gonna make it my project. She’s a nice girl.”

And considering the fact that Clint knew for a fact that Steve’s neighbor was a SHIELD monitor who was a friend of Natasha’s, he knew that nothing would stop Natasha until she got what she wanted. That apparently now involved Steve getting a date or getting laid. Probably both, knowing Nat.

“Guy deserves a bit of happiness, with all he’s been through,” Clint admitted. “He has no idea that his neighbor is…”

“Nope. None at all. And I’m gonna keep it that way as long as possible. It’s not her fault. She’s doing her job.” Sharon Carter was a smart and very good agent, though admittedly closer to Natasha than to him. But he knew enough to hold a deep respect for her.

Natasha sighed. “I do wish I was there with you.”

“We’ll make this Christmas up.” Clint leaned his head back, taking another deep breath as he shook his head. “And I miss you too.” She didn’t need to say it. Clint knew her well enough to understand the meaning behind her words.

“You know, a year ago, I was still in Alaska,” Clint pointed out.

“I remember that. I doubt I’m going to forget Alaska for a long time.” Natasha scoffed. “I’m never going back there.”

“You’re Russian, you’re supposed to like that climate,” Clint teased.

“Bite me.”

“When you get home, maybe.” He smiled at the banter, something so familiar. If she wasn’t here, he was glad that he could at least talk to her. “Merry Christmas, Romanoff.”

He could hear the smile behind her words. “Merry Christmas, Barton.”

Clint shook his head, but straightened and frowned as he heard sounds outside in the hall, standing up. “Nat, I’ve got to go, I think my neighbor is back. I’ve got to ask her to play a mugging victim and I’m gonna pay her in pizza.”

That, if nothing else, caught Natasha by surprise. He was almost proud of that. “You’re going to _what_?”

Clint already hung up the phone, opening the door. When he saw the suspicious look on his neighbor’s face, he settled on the most charming smile that he could, knowing that this request would be weird even by his building’s standards. “Hey, neighbor. What if I asked you for a favor that would include pizza as payment?”

* * *

 As it turned out, it wasn’t as hard to get attacked by a vigilante in Central Park. All it took was a ski mask, black clothing, and someone who could scream loud enough to get the attention that they needed. Especially if you had a victim who could yell with the best of Hollywood’s scream queens.

“You’re gonna make me go deaf, Barrison,” Clint hissed, shaking his head as he played tug of war with his neighbor’s purse. He paused before adding, “Or, you know, more deaf.”

“You wanted me to scream,” Frances Barrison snapped back, glaring back at Barton. Dark haired, blue eyed, and about as prickly as a cactus, she was also the only person who wouldn’t question the request of play a mugging victim too much. She fit in well with the odd denizens of his building. “And what’s with the dumb ski mask? I’ve got better things to do than this.”

“What, watch true crime documentaries on TV and eat popcorn?” Clint snarked, keeping his voice low.

“It’s a better waste of time than this shit! I better get good pizza-“ A real scream came out of Frances when an arrow flew through the air, right towards Clint’s shoulder.

Clint saw it coming, dropping easily and looking towards its direction. There were rocks there, providing upper ground and a careful vantage point, and he realized that would be exactly where she would be. Clint grabbed his wallet, tossing it towards Frances before tossing off his own ski mask.

“There’s twenty bucks in there, see you at home, I’ll feed your cat the next time you have the night shift.” Clint bolted into the woods, leaving a completely confused Frances in his wake.

He could hear a muffled curse by the rocks when he bolted there, and he heard movement. A blur of black and what almost appeared to be purple moved down the rocks, heading towards the nearby wooded area of the park. That was smart. It would be easier to lose a pursuer, and from the fact that the Central Park Archer had never been caught, there was every chance that they knew this park well enough to lose anyone near them.

Too bad for the archer that Clint knew Central Park and New York just as well.

Clint ran after the vigilante, his breathing not as heavy. He could hear the breathing of the other archer within seconds, and kept moving. By the time that they made it to the woods, he was closer. When they made it to a small clearing between the trees, he lunged.

To his relief, he caught the waist of the archer, sending them both hard to the ground. There was a high-pitched yelp, and Clint frowned slightly. He pushed the worry and confusion away before he focused on disarming what he realized was a female vigilante archer who also happened to be in a ski mask.

Clint moved, grabbing the bow and throwing it away, hearing a growl of frustration from the archer on the ground. The archer on the ground threw a hard punch, and Clint grunted as it hit him right in the cheekbone, sending him to the side for a second before he lunged back into it, grabbing the purple material of her own ski mask and tugging it off, throwing it aside.

Below him was the naked face of a girl. Dark brown eyes widened in fear, at being pinned, at being caught.

It was a fucking _kid_.                                                      

She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if even that. The brunette girl on the ground glared up at him before lashing out with a knee, hitting him in the chest. Clint was startled enough to fail in blocking the blow, grunting before landing on his back on the ground. She scrambled clumsily to her feet and tried to bolt, but he hooked his foot around her ankle, sending her back down.

“Hey, hey!” Clint said sharply. He raised his hands as he moved back to his feet, staring down at her. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. That’s all.”

The girl’s brown eyes blazed wildly. “Yeah, sure,” she spat, glaring across at him. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild, but she didn’t try to run. “That’s what you’re gonna say right before you shoot me or something. I’ve been pissing enough people with this, someone was gonna come after me sooner or later.”

Well, that wasn’t a lie. And she wasn’t exactly wrong.

“If I wanted you dead, you would be dead already,” Clint snapped, shaking his head. God, he hated when Coulson descended into talking into clichés, he didn’t want to do it either. “I just want to talk. That’s all I want.”

“Talk?” The girl laughed, shaking her head as she tugged a hand through her hair, glaring back at him. “Sure, then fucking talk. You don’t know who I am anyway.”

“Really?” Clint pressed, frowning across at her. “I think that you’re probably about eighteen. Probably from around here. Upper East Side, considering where we are in the park. You’re smart. I’m guessing honor role at your school. You know how to avoid cameras, so I’m guessing you’re in the spotlight somewhat. That ski mask you have is from a stupidly expensive brand. I was able to find you with the knowledge that you come out here and shoot petty criminals. I can find out who you are with the rest of that.”

There was a clear look of fear on her face, her dark eyes widening further as she tried to reply. The blood was gone from her face. She knew that she was in trouble. He knew that she knew that. And he knew that she was trying to find some way to take control of this situation.

That, at least, reminded him of Natasha.

“Who the fuck are you?” the girl asked, her voice harder as she looked him over.

“I’m an Avenger,” Clint replied, seeing the look of surprise on her face. Jesus, she was fucking young. His eyes narrowed in annoyance as she started laughing hysterically, one arm going around her stomach. “I’m serious!”

“You, an Avenger?” the girl demanded, looking him over. She did not seem impressed in the least. “Sorry, Captain America has a better ass than that. And I’ve met Tony Stark. Your ego isn’t filling up the entire park.”

“I could be the green one,” Clint protested, frowning down at her. He was an Avenger, and it was clear that she didn’t believe him. He was completely insulted. Especially since she kept laughing at him.

The cheeks of her face were wet as she wiped them, still laughing. “You’re not the green one, you would have become the green one when I punched you in the face.”

That might be a fun experiment. Punch Bruce in the face and see if he turned into the Hulk. A thought for another day. For today, he had to focus on the brunette girl in front of her with a trigger-happy bow and arrow going after petty criminals in Central Park. God, today was weird.

“Okay, so maybe I’m not the green one,” Clint admitted, rolling his eyes up to the sky. “I’m the archer.”

The girl looked up sharply at him before her eyes flickered to his arms. Clint had enough scars and callouses that it was obvious he worked with his arms. It wasn’t too hard to see that he was strong, and there were only so many hobbies and jobs that did the wear and tear of archery. She was good enough that she would recognize it.

“They never caught the face of the archer,” the girl pointed out, her tone suspicious.

“Yeah. Because I’m good at avoiding cameras too,” Clint replied simply. He gestured to the bow that was on the ground a few feet away. “Give me the bow and I can prove it.”

She nodded slowly, walking over to the bow. She didn’t turn her back to him, merely keeping her dark eyes locked onto him. She bent down, grabbing the bow before standing up and handing it back to him. She handed him an arrow next, and crossed her arms against her chest.

“Throw the ski mask,” Clint said simply, taking the bow. It was a bit smaller than he was used to, but he was one of the best marksmen in the world. He could handle an unfamiliar bow for this.

She nodded slowly, and picked up the purple material. She tossed it into the air, taking a step back, and Clint moved, nocking the arrow and firing it easily. The arrow sliced through the air, stabbing the ski mask and sending it flying across the clearing and straight into the tree. The arrow was right through the eyes of the mask, missing the material completely.

Clint grinned and lowered the bow, raising an eyebrow across at the girl in front of him. “You were saying?” he asked casually.

The girl’s jaw was slacked, something else other than suspicion and fear lighting up in her eyes. Her brown eyes widened as she said, “Okay, maybe you are Hawkeye. Maybe.”

“I just shot your stupidly expensive ski mask without ruining it. I’m Hawkeye, kid.” Clint lowered the bow before handing it back to her, crossing her arms against his chest as he watched her. “You’ve got a name?”

She swallowed, wiping her hands on her pants before looking back at him. “…Kate. My name’s Kate.”

He noticed she didn’t give a last name, but the fact that she was giving a first one at all was a good sign, a sign that she was grateful for. “Kate, how old are you?” he asked.

Her eyes moved down. He dreaded the coming answer instantly. “Nineteen in February,” she admitted.

Jesus fucking Christ. She was a god damned kid. She was literally a kid. “You’re eighteen and you’re out here?” Clint demanded. Age really was turning him into Coulson. “You don’t have high school or something? You’ve been doing this for how many months as a high schooler?”

“Please, I graduated in the spring,” Kate protested, rolling her eyes. “I’m on a gap year before I go to college in September. Empire State University.”

Clint looked around, realizing that they had to get out of the park. “So you fill your time with shooting petty criminals in the middle of the night?” he demanded, gesturing for her to start leaving the park. To Clint’s relief, she followed, picking up the arrow and ski mask as she came.

“They deserved it,” Kate protested. “And no one else was doing anything about them. The police weren’t doing anything. They didn’t consider it a priority.”

The older archer paused before looking back at her. This would be the biggest question of all, the biggest test of the waters he could do for the night. “Did the guy trying to assault that girl a month back deserve arrows to the hands, feet, and knee?”

A change came over Kate in an instant. Her entire body stiffened, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she glared across at him. There was anger, a rage in her eyes that should not have been in the eyes of a teenager. She’d seen some shit. She’d experienced some shit.

Fury was right. That assault had been personal to her.

“That fucker especially deserved it,” Kate replied, her hands curling into fists against the leather of her gloves.

Clint knew not to push. He’d been around people enough to know when he’d hit sensitive spots, and he was not going to push her when he wanted to get her to come back and talk sooner or later. Instead, he sighed, leading the way to under a streetlight, watching her carefully.

“So, what’s your plan?” he asked simply.

Kate frowned. “What?”

“Do you plan on keep attacking muggers until one kills you? Until the Maggia or Jade Syndicate or Mexican Cartel or Dogs of Hell put a hit out for you?” Clint pressed. “Until a lucky son of a bitch manages to shoot you?”

She looked away from him, enough of a sign that he knew she hadn’t thought about it. Clint pulled out a notecard out of his back pocket, followed by a pen. She watched suspiciously as he scribbled on it, adding his address, name, and phone number. He had to give her a chance. At least before she accidentally got herself killed.

“If you want to get better at it, you come here,” he said simply. “I’m usually around. If you want to talk about anything, about this… if you need help, you come here. Ignore the sounds of screams from my neighbor’s apartment. She’s a creepy ass coroner and watches very loud true crime documentaries.”

Kate raised an eyebrow as she took it, not answering whether or not she’d come. “Is that the lady you were mugging?” she asked.

Clint nodded, almost cheerful. “Um, yeah. I’m paying her in pizza for her services.”

“God, you’re weird.” The younger girl shot him a strange look, scowling before grabbing her bow and stalking out of the park, hiding the collapsible bow in her bag before hurrying to grab a taxi. Clint watched her go, sighing.

This mission was far more complicated than he thought it would be. And he prayed that she would come sooner rather than later.

* * *

 If nothing else, Natasha was incredibly amused by the fact that Clint had been punched in the face by a teenage girl with a purple ski mask. Clint was decidedly not so.

“You were punched in the face by an eighteen year old.” Natasha readjusted the scarf around her neck, glancing around the crowded New York streets. She’d been back in town for a day, and she was beyond amused to hear of Clint’s encounter with the Central Park Archer a week before. She smirked back over at him before saying, “And she’s a kid.”

“She turns nineteen next month, she’s very proud of that,” Clint deadpanned, taking a deep breath. Things were so much more complicated because of that. He had no idea what he was going to do. He couldn’t bring a kid into SHIELD.

Because no matter the fact that she was legal, she was a kid. She was a kid and had no idea what the real world was like. The expensiveness of her ski mask alone was sign enough of that.

Natasha shook her head, sighing as she looked back over. “There’s been a rise in vigilantes since what happened in New York,” she pointed out. “She’s not the first. She won’t be the last.”

“Guess she’s just one of the first causing major damage,” Clint murmured. He sighed as he led the way down the stairs to the subway down below. He sipped at the coffee in his hand, tapping his foot when they made it down to the platform.

“First, but not the last,” Natasha pointed out. She looked back over at him before saying, “You know, you should be doing something for fun. Besides just working on this mission.”

Clint snorted before getting onto the subway, glad to find two side-by-side seats. He sat down first, leaning his head back, as Natasha sat, one leg crossed over the other. “Dealing with an angsty teenage archer is fun for me,” he protested.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She shook her head before saying, “You need a bit of fun in your life, Barton.”

Clint rolled his eyes before looking back around the subway car, at the numerous people around and the signs everywhere. Directly across from him and Natasha, next to an advertisement to Trish Talk, was a flier, recently put down, untouched by age or drunken hooligan.

The flier’s words jumped out at him. ADOPTION DAY AT CENTRAL PARK. That exact day’s date was spelled out, clear as day, underneath, and idea formed within seconds.

Clint smiled slightly. “Hey, Nat? You say I need to do something fun?” The redhead looked back at him, raising an eyebrow as she took another sip of her coffee. “I’ve got an idea.”

As Natasha’s eyes followed to where Clint was looking, she groaned. That alone told Clint that this idea was going to be a good one.

* * *

An hour later, Natasha could only sigh and wonder what possessed Clint to give him this idea. “When I said that you should try new things, I didn’t mean get a dog.”

There was an honest grin on Clint’s face. “I’ve never had a pet before. This is a new thing.”

“What about cats?” Natasha leaned down carefully across from the cage. The adoption day was in a pavilion in Central Park, protected from the cold by heaters and thin walls. A little white kitten meowed inside, and Natasha smiled.

“I want a dog,” Clint said, his voice stubborn as he looked to the other side. “I like dogs better.”

Natasha hummed, moving to her feet and leading the way towards the dogs. “You leave a lot,” she pointed out. “Might not be fair to a dog.”

“Fury’s still refusing to send me on international assignments,” the archer explained. He looked around at the numerous dogs around the pavilion, feeling more excited than he had in years. This was the right choice. He knew it. “And I’m not planning on getting a puppy. When I do leave, I’ve got Frances next to me.”

“Frances is weird. You trust her to watch a dog?”

“She’s got a cat. She’s bad with people, not animals.” Clint raised a brow. “And you were raised in an assassin school, you don’t have room to call someone else weird.”

Natasha hummed, but he caught the slight smirk on her face. Clint looked back around, and paused when he saw one dog across the row, lying down and watching him. Before he knew it, he was heading over, bending down and looking at him. “What’s his name?” he asked the woman near the dog.

“He doesn’t have one,” she explained, not looking up from the paperwork she was filling out at the table. “He was picked up off the streets last year. We’ve been calling him Pizza Dog because they found him outside of a pizza join in Brooklyn.”

Clint turned to the dog, holding out a hand to let him sniff. “Looks like you’ve got good taste, then,” he muttered. “What do you think, boy?” He leaned down before scratching behind the ear of the dog, a one-eyed mutt that appeared to have some lab ancestry. “You want to come home with me, boy?”

The dog’s tail wagged happily, and Natasha sighed. It was about the most pitiful creature she’d seen before, but somehow fit with Clint perfectly.

“I’ll take him,” Clint said, his voice firm as he looked back at the woman. “I’ll bring him home.”

The woman looked up, clearly surprised by pleased as she stood up to find the paperwork needed. Natasha took a step forward, unable to hide a smile as she watched the two. As dumb as this idea might be, she knew that it might very well be the best thing to happen to Clint since the spring of 2012.

And Clint desperately needed something good in his life.

“What are you going to name him?” Natasha asked.

Clint smiled softly, bending down and petting the dog. His tail wagged happily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted. “I’m gonna call him Lucky,” Clint replied, looking back at Natasha. “Because I think the both of us are lucky.”

Natasha paused, watching the dog before smiling slightly. “Sounds like you,” she mentioned. Her hand went to the arrow necklace around her neck, the one she still had not removed. She bent down and patted the dog’s head. “You’re gonna help me take care of him, aren’t you?” The dog whined happily before moving to lick Natasha’s face. “That’s a good boy.”

There was not a single thing that could have broken the smile on Clint’s face – not an alien invasion, not a war, not even an Asgardian god with a brainwashing staff in his hand.

* * *

As it turned out, the day’s surprises did not end with Lucky the dog. Instead, they continued with a dark-haired teenage girl in a purple winter coat, sitting outside of Clint’s apartment.

Clint paused when they walked out of the stairwell, staring at the girl in front of his door. For a second, Natasha thought it was his neighbor. Barrison had a habit of being slightly creepy. But Frances would never have been able to afford a coat that clearly expensive on a coroner’s salary.

The archer stared at her, recognizing her immediately. He was only surprised that she’d come at all, after not hearing from her for a week. Then again, there hadn’t been any more attacks from the Central Park Archer.

Kate swallowed nervously as she saw them, fidgeting. “You said to come if I wanted to talk,” she said, her voice quiet. “I… I want to talk.” It was then that she saw Lucky, and her entire demeanor changed.

Her face lit up in an instant, turning from wary marble to the youthful brightness that it should have been. “Oh my god, it’s a dog,” she said, beaming as she bent down. Lucky casually walked over to her, tail wagging happily as he licked her face. “Oh my god, he’s so fucking cute…”

There was nothing Clint and Natasha could do for a moment but watch this girl squeal over Lucky. Clint couldn’t help but give a grin, glad that she was at least excited. If nothing else, he could bribe Kate to keep in contact through the dog. Dogs were good with that. Clint turned to his partner, grinning cheerfully.

“See, the dog likes her. The dog is totally a great idea,” Clint said, gesturing towards Kate. Kate looked up, raising an eyebrow, looking wary as she looked towards Natasha. He saw the exact moment she realized that she was another Avenger.

Natasha didn’t need to be told who this girl was. She was only surprised that she’d come in the middle of the day, only a week after Clint had talked to her. But she knew that Clint was going to need time to talk to her, to figure out what they all wanted.

“Kate, Nat,” Clint introduced. “Nat, Kate. Nat’s an Avenger. Kate’s the Central Park Archer.”

Natasha raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You’ve got style, kid.” She smirked at the younger girl, and a tentative smile crossed Kate’s face. “Let me know if you want some knife lessons or hand-to-hand lessons. Clint’s form is shit.”

The younger archer beamed at it, shaking Natasha’s hand firmly. “Um, yeah, that would be totally awesome.” She stared at Clint for a few moments before saying, “So yeah. You’re an Avenger.”

The redhead laughed. “I know, I don’t believe it myself sometimes,” Natasha replied, as charming and disarming as a spy could be. She took a step over, kissing Clint’s cheek. “I’ll get dinner.” She looked at Kate. “You like pizza?”

Kate perked up slightly. “Um, yeah. I love pizza. Pizza’s great.”

“Fantastic. I’ll grab Manfredi’s.” The beam that crossed Kate’s face only confirmed Natasha’s theory that this girl had potential. Hell, Clint realized he could probably bribe Kate with Natasha time too. She smirked at her boyfriend before heading out, leaving the two archers to discuss whatever Kate came there for.

Clint led the way into his apartment, letting Lucky off the leash so he could explore his new home. He set several of the bags of dog things onto the ground, sighing as he sat down on the couch, gesturing for her to sit down. Kate tugged off her purple jacket, setting it down at the table before sitting in the chair.

Lucky, done sniffing around, came to rest at Clint’s side, staring up adoringly at his new owner. Clint reached over, scratching behind Lucky’s ear as he watched Kate.

“So,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

Kate took a deep breath before looking back. “Why was an Avenger looking for me?” she asked bluntly, summoning as much courage as she could. “I keep thinking about it. Why were you looking for me?”

Clint sighed, leaning back before looking over. “You ever hear of SHIELD?”

A single brow rose. “That weird organization that came out of the shadows last year after New York?” Kate asked, looking a bit freaked out. “Kinda like the secret organizations of secret…” Her eyes widened. “Oh, shit, they… _they_ wanted you to find me?”

“Nat and I work for them. Have since before New York. I have since 2000.” Clint looked back over at her, frowning before asking, “How old were you in the Battle? You’re nineteen next month…”

Kate gave a dry smile. “I was seventeen. Junior in high school. Brooklyn Visions Academy went on lockdown.” She looked back at him. “I thought that was scary. Just sitting around, hearing the distant explosions. But you were in the middle of it.”

Clint sighed. “Yeah, I was. And I was running around before it…” He took a deep breath. “Let’s just say I had a bad few days before it.”

The younger archer nodded, but didn’t push. She clearly understood implied trauma. Clint suspected she had some own in her past. “Why was SHIELD interested in me, then?”

“Because they have a tendency to keep an eye on vigilantes and superheroes. You just happen to be one of the first ones that really caught their attention. They found me the same way, back when I was a mercenary.” He sighed before looking back and explaining, “I was supposed to find you. Make sure you weren’t doing anything too bad. I’d decide what to do from there.”

“And your decision was to what? Report me? Send me to jail? Send me to some Gitmo shit?” Kate looked wary before saying, “Because I’m a rich, white Manhattan girl, I’d get a huge Lifetime movie if I went missing.”

Clint laughed, shaking his head as he scratched Lucky’s head. “Actually, I was given a choice. And my choice is that if you want to be a hero… you might as well get trained by an Avenger.” He gestured at the door. “Two of them, actually. Nat will totally be in.”

Kate was silent for a few moments, taking a deep breath, clearly overwhelmed. “Why?” she asked quietly.

The older man didn’t reply for a second, merely standing up and going to the fridge. He moved to the window, looking out and leaning his forehead against the window. He knew that there were other reasons. She was a kid. It was irresponsible to let a kid keep putting her life in danger without some more learning.

And maybe, just maybe, he saw something of himself in this girl. She needed someone to look at her and believe that she could be a hero.

Clint honestly believed that Kate could be.

“Because a long time ago, I was an angry kid with a dark past and a chip on my shoulder,” he explained. He looked back at her. “And a man looked at me and saw potential. And I see potential in you. I think you could be a damned good hero. I think this world needs them more than it’ll admit.”

She didn’t reply, merely watching him. “Is pizza and the dog included in the training?” she asked, patting the top of the dog’s head. “Because if it does, I’m totally in.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Pizza and the dog are included in training.”

Kate grinned cheerfully, trying to play it cool but failing in every way. “I’m in.”

And for better or worse, Clint realized, he was picking up Coulson’s habit of adopting strays.

* * *

As it turned out, adopting strays was not as easy as he thought it to be.

Kate was mouthy, sarcastic, and awful with authority figures. She was cocky and impatient and goofed off far more than Clint would have liked. She was a spoiled brat.

But she was talented, smart, brave, and resourceful, and by far the best archer he’d ever met, including himself, including Buck Chisholm, including Barney. And he knew that he’d made the right choice in training her, no matter how many headaches she gave him.

He just still wasn’t sure if it was smart to get her to apartment-sit.

“Where are you going anyway?” Kate asked in early March. She was a mainstay at their apartment at that point. He was fairly sure that either Natasha taught her to pick locks, or she’d cloned a key. He wasn’t sure which idea he hated more, though she would have gotten her own key by now anyway.

“Undercover with an arms dealer,” Clint mentioned, sipping at his coffee. “And that’s as specific as I’m going to get with you.”

The younger archer scoffed as she poured more coffee into her mug. “You’re sure you’re not secretly James Bond?” she demanded. “Because going undercover with an arms dealer sounds like a James Bond movie.”

Clint frowned. “I’m cooler than James Bond and we know it.”

“Nat is pretty James Bond too,” Kate admitted. “If we’re going further into this equation, you’re the Bond girl.”

“Does that mean I get a pretty dress?” Clint deadpanned, smirking back at his mentee. “Because as long as it’s purple, I’m okay with it. And has room for a thigh holster. Nat’s complained about the dresses she wears on missions a lot.”

“Don’t forget your stupid death scene,” Kate added. “You’re totally get a useless death scene.” She smirked and picked up a piece of bacon, tossing it down to a waiting Lucky. “And where’s Nat? I’m surprised she’s not apartment sitting. I mean, she lives here, you know?”

“She’s down in DC. Gonna be on a few missions with Cap for a while.” Clint gestured. “Hence why we’re asking you. You’re sure it’s going to be okay that you’re here?”

“I have to babysit Leah Frohike this weekend, but that’s it. She’s nine and a brat. Coming back here will be so much better.” Kate shrugged. “If it gets me away from my dad, I’ll watch slasher films with Frances.”

Clint sighed, tossing a piece of bacon towards Lucky. The dog was going to get fat between him and Kate. “Look, you know I don’t want to push, but… I get asshole dads. I do. Mine was a nasty bastard.”

She was silent, taking a deep breath before picking at her French toast. Clint just started to think she would shut down when instead, she opened up. “He doesn’t hit me,” Kate said, her voice quiet as she looked back. “He’s… he’s cold. And not a nice person. But he pays for my stuff, doesn’t question how much I spend on my cards. His wife is a bitch. But… but he’s not the worst person in the world.”

The older archer was silent before pointing out, “That doesn’t mean he’s a good father. Or person.”

“I know. But he’s not the worst he could be.” Kate sighed before looking back and saying, “I only have to survive until August, when I can move into the dorms.”

Clint recognized the lead into a new conversation when he heard one, and decided to humor her. “You know the couch is always here,” Clint pointed out.

Kate gave a weak smile. “I know, Clint. Thank you.”

The older archer nodded before picking up both their mugs, carrying them to the counter before pouring a generous amount of coffee in each. Kate was doing well. She was doing so well. She was a goddamned natural, and Clint was smart enough to realize not to lose something like this, a potential asset like her.

Not even to SHIELD. The Avengers would have to come together again. He knew that better than anyone. And maybe, just maybe, she was good enough to be an Avenger.

There was no maybe, actually. Kate was good enough to be an Avenger. Clint knew it.

Clint picked up the mugs of coffee, carrying them back to the table before sitting down, passing Kate’s over to her. The younger teenager hummed a thank you, sipping at her coffee before noticing the look on his face. Despite how little time he and Nat knew Kate, she’d already learned how to pick up all the signs, the quirks of their personalities and expressions.

Kate shot Clint a withering look, giving a long-suffering sigh before looking back. “What?” she demanded, raising an eyebrow at him. “What do you want?”

Clint shook his head. “Who said I want anything?”

“That look on your face. I know you well enough to know when you want something,” Kate pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, frowning at him. Her hand went under the table, scratching the top of Lucky’s head. “What do you want?”

Coulson once said that if there was something he felt strongly about, he had to speak up. And he knew in his heart that Kate Bishop would be a damned good hero. She would be a good Avenger.

Clint gave a quiet smile. “So, Katie. Have you ever thought about your future career?”

* * *

_He was going to jail for the rest of his life._

_Clint had fucked up. He’d fucked up a lot in his life, but this was different. He’d nearly killed someone. He’d stopped at the last second, but he’d been left holding the evidence. Buck Chisholm had abandoned him to the consequences, and Barney was going to tell him that he was wrong, that he had this coming._

_He was never going to be free again._

_His hands were cuffed to the table as he took a deep breath, waiting. The door opened, and Clint looked up sharply, his eyes widening._

_The man that walked in was the last type of person he’d expected. He was wearing a perfectly pressed suit, looking more as if he’d walked in to the grocery store than an interview room with someone called armed and dangerous, the man left holding a smoking gun. Or rather, a bow and arrow._

_“Hello. My name is Phil Coulson. I’m with the Strategic Homeland Intervention…” He seemed to notice the slowly glazing over look of Clint’s eyes before adding, “I’m with SHIELD. And I’m here to talk to you about a way that you could avoid jail time.”_

_Clint straightened, his eyes widening as he looked back over. “You’re not serious.”_

_“I think you’ll find I’m very serious, Clint. Can I call you Clint?” When the man in question only glared across at him, Phil Coulson gave a deep sigh. “Mr. Barton, then. I have an opportunity for you, that, if you accept, will help you to avoid jail time.”_

_It sounded too good to be true. There had to be a catch. There was no way that it was as simple as some man coming in and offering him a way out. There was a catch. But he knew that he didn’t have a lot of options. He didn’t have another choice. He did not want to go to jail._

_What the hell did he have to lose?_

_Nothing. He had nothing to lose._

_“I’m listening,” Clint said, glaring across at him. “Make it quick.”_

_Phil smiled. “Tell me, Mr. Barton. Have you ever thought about your future career?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kate Bishop** \- Violett Beane  
>  **Frances Barrison** \- Lindsey McKeon
> 
> Clint, Kate, and Natasha will all return in **I Am the Storm** , which will begin posting in the next few days. Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you at the next installment of the series.


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